Saving You Saves Me
by Osidiano
Summary: A rewrite of their final year. Sundays are perfect days for sermons. Manjoume goes to hear Raphael give a speech to the Morality Committee, and but the Order isn't quite what he's expecting.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer/Note: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!: GX, or any of the characters here, unless otherwise mentioned. I do not own Kazuki Takahashi, and no money is being made off of this piece of fiction. This story was written solely for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, do not sue. All original ideas are original (**_**duh**_**) and belong to me, unless otherwise mentioned. I would like to share credit for much of this story with my friend and beta, The Mad Poet, who sloughed through the outline and rough drafts. Also, for coming up with many ideas and helping me to flesh out the story (and for playing Marco Polo until the wee hours of the morning). This story begins just before Saiou and Juudai's duel at the end of second season, and may contain: violence, language, mind games, biblical references, cultural and religious jokes/criticism, some crude humor, psychological trauma/mental instabilities, romance, and possibly sex or sexual references. If you lack the maturity to handle all that, then please leave now. For everyone else, enjoy.**

**Saving You Saves Me**

"_The pain in your heart, you can let it all out to me. I've always been saved by that smile of yours. So go ahead and cry for now, because I'll be here as long as you need_." – 'Teardrop,' BOWL

**Prologue**

Juudai never regretted any of the times when he took things seriously, and he never felt any remorse or twinge of guilt over his actions. He did what was needed at the time, and—for the most part—that was enough for him. Sometimes, though, late at night when he was sitting out on his cliff looking over the edge at the water far below instead of being in bed asleep, Juudai wondered if there was something wrong with him. He wondered if that something was important, wondered if normal people could choose to be childish and naïve and carefree in place of the coldly calculating adult that he knew that he _could_ be, if he wanted. Juudai was not an idiot, although he loved to play the part of the fool. Being a fool meant that he did not have to be an adult, and that was a very good thing, he thought. He did not like the kind of adult that he would grow up to be. That kind of adult was a little on the scary side.

He looked up from the Life Point counter on his Duel Disk, staring across the expanse of white to the young man who would not be his opponent; the young man who _refused _to accept his childish terms and conditions to decide the fate of the , really, Saiou was right: now that he had the key to the laser satellite of destruction, there was not any reason to stand around and play a silly children's card game. And though that suggestion had surprised him at first, Juudai knew that it was okay. They did not need to play cards. Juudai was good at other things, too. People—people like Kenzan, who, had he been there, would have happily offered assistance—could attest to his many skills. But Kenzan was not there. In point of fact, no one else was there in that colorless room except for Saiou, and the Light inside him.

And Ed, come to think of it. Then again, Ed was unconscious, lying in the hands of the Scales of Justice above pits of lava, so maybe that did not count.

Saiou was saying something, but the pale young man was ranting, going into some kind of religious psychobabble that was hard for Juudai to understand. Primarily, the difficulty was caused by the fact that every word was run into the next, and Saiou had the obnoxious habit of holding onto his vowels and swallowing consonants. And then there was the double speech. Juudai had never liked anyone who could not simply say whatever it was that they meant, and this was no exception. When every other word had three meanings that fit within the context of the sentence, it was no wonder that he had long since stopped paying attention to the leader of the Society of Light.

"I hate to break it to you, but. . ." Juudai interrupted, casually calling out to the young man across from him. He took his Duel Disk off and set it aside. If anything bad happened to any of his cards he would never forgive himself, and this could get messy. Juudai started to walk towards Saiou, who was so stunned—at least, Juudai thought he must have been stunned, because there was no reason for him _not_ to be stunned—by this that he stuttered to a halt. "You're annoying. You _and_ your stupid Light."

"What now, my foolish _hero_?" he used the word for 'hero' that also meant 'the butt of a joke,' a slight emphasis caused by the way that he spoke. Juudai did not pause or falter as Saiou continued. "You do not yet have the power to unleash the Dark Warrior inside of you; you are but a child in the presence of God. And we are not afraid."

"Well, fear this."

Perhaps Saiou was taken by surprise when Juudai's fist connected with his nose. But maybe the Tarot-obsessed freak already knew what would happen next. Whatever the case, Saiou fell back with a gasp, bringing a set of long-nailed fingers up to his face. His mouth was open—in shock?—and blood that seemed too bright to be real began to drip from his nose. Had blood always been that red? Juudai did not think so. Then again, every color seemed special here, seemed amazingly brilliant when surrounded by so much white. Saiou's breathing was heavy. Juudai got the impression that no one had ever punched him before. He felt kind of special to be his first.

"You—"

"You don't want to play cards?" Juudai was speaking too loud, the not-quite yell overpowering whatever it was that Saiou had been trying to say. His eyes were narrowed and he realized that his voice sounded angry. But that was not right. He did not feel angry right now; there was a chilly, hollow feeling in his chest, the feeling that was always there when he decided to take things more seriously. It was the Grown-Up Juudai, the Juudai that did not get sidetracked by emotions. This was the Serious Juudai that got things done when nothing else worked. The feeling was spreading, and he lowered his voice back down to a normal speaking level. Grown-Up Juudai did not yell, because he knew that yelling did not solve anything. A cold, authorative tone took the place of the anger. "That's fine, because I don't want to play games with you anymore. And there are consequences that you have to face because of that."

Juudai did not think of the Grown-Up inside of him as _someone else_. It was not a darker side, some twisted and sinister individual that he housed within. Serious, Grown-Up Juudai was not someone else. It was not a part of him that he thought that he hid from people, not a part of him that he was ashamed of. There was not a distinction that he consciously made between them. This was just the kind of person that he was, the kind of adult that he would eventually become. _Growing up_ was just a decision that he made in tough situations when childish thinking finally failed him. When this was done, he would go back to laughing and playing the fool and being happy again. And he would probably "Gotcha!" the next person he saw or played with like nothing had ever happened. He always did, after all.

"I—"

"Nothing you say is going to change this."

Blood was getting on Saiou's robes. It was going to stain, of this Juudai was certain. Saiou began to scoot back on the floor, his shaky and bloodied hands slipping and smearing red in wide arcs as he tried to crawl away. Juudai did not bother to waste any more time with idle talk, with complacent conversation. Saiou opened his mouth to speak again, but Juudai slammed his boot into the young man's face.

The sound that someone's head makes when it is kicked hard enough is a little odd. It is a dull sound, a muted quiet sound of something hard hitting something softer, a slightly wet sound. Juudai did not like that sound; it made him think of bursting watermelons. And he _hated _it when people broke watermelons, because it was such a waste. But that sound was gone in a moment, was replaced by the _thunkcrack_ of Saiou's head hitting the white tiles when he fell back. The young man was gasping, coughing to keep from choking on the blood that had suddenly filled his mouth. His face was starting to bruise and swell, and some of his teeth had broken off, chipped fragments cutting into his gums. Saiou spit them out onto the floor beside him, body lifted slightly and supported by his elbows.

Juudai had a leg on either side of Saiou's ribs, resting on his knees as he grabbed the front of those splotched robes with one hand. The front was not white any more. Saiou's blood was too red, and there was too much of it. Juudai wondered briefly if the young man had a clotting problem, or if this was normal and he was simply out of practice. Card games really were so much cleaner. Saiou's legs flailed in panic, but Juudai pulled his free hand back, building tension for a fraction of a second before releasing and letting his blow land.

Saiou was crying—or, perhaps, the Light was laughing, it was hard to tell—when Juudai pulled back for the third punch. Tears sprang up in his bright eyes, eyes that were too wide as if the hand of God held them open against their will. By the fourth punch his nose was definitely broken, a mottled mess of flesh that was quickly beginning to turn black and purple and so many other unnatural colors. His head was lolling from side to side, perhaps seeking a way out. There were none. On the fifth punch, his eyes were swollen shut and the tears finally stopped. Juudai's hands were beginning to hurt; his knuckles were sore, and the muscles in his arm ached from being contracted for so long. His wrist felt stiff and unresponsive after absorbing so many shocks.

"You will bring death to all that surrounds you!" Saiou shrieked in a pause before the next blow, taloned hands coming up to grip the collar of Juudai's jacket frantically, words coming out in a desperately fanatical rush. "This is only the beginning, and the darkness that sleeps inside of you will grow to consume the flesh and souls of men. This is your last chance, _you fool_! Accept the Light, let it burn you clean and absolve you of your sins; the Wheel of Fate—"

He did not respond. When Juudai hit him for the seventh time, blood was being sent up in light sprays, flecking his own face and school uniform. The bones in the oracle's face were beginning to give way, lending the dull sound of flesh pounding flesh a few _cracks_ and _snaps_, but mostly allowing that wet sound to grow. Saiou was not making any noise anymore, the silence of the room adding like deafness to the horror of each blow.

The worst part about beating a man to death with bare hands, Juudai decided, was that he knew exactly when Saiou was going to die. He was beginning to feel his fists sink in deeper with every hit, the bones all but shattered beneath the skin, which was splitting along curves to reveal musculature and pour out blood. Juudai wondered if there was any skin left on Saiou's face; he could only see the red plasma streaming onto the floor and soaking into once-white robes. Why did the skin split like that, anyway? Where did it go when it broke apart? It seemed to disappear, like there had never been enough skin to cover everything.

Saiou was not crying out anymore, was not twitching or gasping or doing anything that live men did.

After a moment, and three more punches, Juudai released the front of the oracle's robes, sitting back on his heels while he took a deep breath. He went to wet his lips with his tongue and tasted blood. He shivered slightly, and let the apathy—that hollow grown-up feeling—slip away.

* * *

Their second year was finally over.

There had been times when Manjoume had not believed that they would live to see the seniors graduate, times when the very thought of sitting through the principal's farewell speech seemed too much to hope for. But now, seated in the Osiris Red section of the Dueling Arena seats for the graduation ceremony, surrounded by people that he disliked and was in turn disliked by, Manjoume came to realize just how impossible _not_ surviving would have been.

"Psst! Manjoume—"

"_-San da_," he muttered the additive almost under his breath reflexively, lips hardly moving as he tilted his head toward the speaker.

After all, if he had died, he would not be stuck next to Juudai for the mind-boggling span of _two and a half hours _as Sameshima wrapped up his less than inspiring sendoff. Manjoume sighed, rubbing at his temple idly with one hand. _This_ was divine retribution, he reminded himself as he half-listened to the boy next to him. This was payback for. . .well, he was not quite sure what he had done to deserve this kind of torture, but it must have been something really, _really _bad.

"Hey, Manjoume! Manjoume, what are you doing for summer break?" Juudai asked in a low but curious tone, his mouth curved in a mischievous grin.

"No."

"Huh? Whaddya mean—"

"What ever it is that you think that _we_ should do. The answer is, 'no, never.' I'm going home for the summer," even as he spoke, Manjoume knew that he would regret those words, knew with that sick sinking feeling that he tended to get whenever he said anything to the fool beside him. Something terrible was going to happen next. He did not yet know what it was, but he could tell from the flash of stupidity—or perhaps some strange perversion of insight—that crossed Juudai's face. The grin grew, and so did the heavy feeling in his gut.

". . .You don't _really_ want to go home for the summer, do you?"

"I know exactly where you're going with this," Manjoume growled, slouching in his seat and folding his arms over his chest sullenly. He stared down at the Dueling Arena, at the lines of chairs that had been brought out onto the field for graduation. Last year there had been an impressive Graduation Duel between his companion and the Kaiser, but when the new top senior had asked, Juudai had strangely declined. With this year's Graduation Duel—between the top senior, a boy that Manjoume did not know but hated for taking the spot away from Asuka, and the head of the Ra Yellow dorms, Kabayama—already come and gone, there was little else to do but wait for the ceremony to end. Sameshima had announced earlier that, since there had been plenty of insanity throughout the year, they were going to have a _boring, normal graduation_ after the duel. Manjoume could understand that, between the messes that were the GenX tournament, the Society of Light's overtaking of the school, and the rebuilding after the White Order's disbanding, a lot had happened in one year. No one really minded the slow-down before going home. In fact, many—Manjoume included—were _relieved _to be having a graduation just like any other high school, where things like radical religious sects and the destruction of the world were not commonplace.

Manjoume idly noted the green berets stationed at each entrance and exit of the Arena, holding loaded M-16s at low-ready. Ah yes, totally normal and now safe, all thanks to the efforts of the Morality Committee. Duel Academy would never quite be normal, despite its efforts.

He heard Juudai laugh, saw the boy stifle the sound with his hand out of the corner of one eye. But the principal had finally finished his speech, and the teachers and professors were moving from their chairs to form the line of faculty that the students would walk past. Manjoume paid close attention, narrowing his gaze as his vision swept across the graduating class in blue and yellow, searching. . .

. . .For her.

"I think you should stay with me for the summer," Juudai was rambling again, leaning in as he gushed about how 'awesome' it would be. "Sure, my place isn't big, but my mama is totally nice, and I really think that you'd—"

"Shh!" Manjoume ground the command for silence out between clenched teeth, his jaw tight with tension as he watched her intently. Her name was the second called, which was not surprising, considering that the Academy did everything according to class rank. She stood calmly, serenely, and walked forward. His breath caught in his throat, and Manjoume sat up straighter without thinking. She took her diploma from Sameshima, then moved on to shake the hands of her professors and exchange thanks and congratulations.

"No! Promise you'll be around for summer."

"Do you mind?"

"It's just Asuka, Manjoume."

"-_San da_!" he snapped vehemently, heat rising to his face at the mention of her name. Why Juudai never added an honorific to either of their names was a mystery to him, but he could not bring himself to _think_ of their upperclassman as anything other than Asuka-_sama._ He even thought of that as a stretch, as a private admission that he allowed himself only in the secrecy of his mind. After all that had happened this year, he was nearly certain that she did not want to be on a first name basis with him anymore. "And you should be more respectful; Tenjoin-kun is graduating and won't be here next year, you know."

". . .Huh?" Juudai cocked his head to one side, finally looking down to the Arena below. "What? No way! Asuka is totally going to be back for next year; what makes you think that she doesn't want to hang out with us?"

". . .You're an idiot," that statement was the only thing that Manjoume could think to say as he stared at Juudai with a mixed feeling of amazement and disgust. How did anyone manage to survive that level of stupidity?

"Does that mean you'll stay for summer break?"

"No!"

"Oh, come _on_," Juudai whined, nudging Manjoume's shoulder with his elbow. Manjoume glared at him, swatting at the annoying boy with one hand before returning attention to the graduating seniors. Actually, he was returning his attention to _her_, but that was a trivial detail not worth mentioning. She was shaking the hand of Professor Satou, who was smiling and probably telling her what an amazing and wonderful student she had always been, which would not have been surprising. Asuka was a wonderful person, after all. Wonderful, beautiful, amazing people were _always_ good students; others were invariably _drawn_ to their natural perfection. Manjoume sighed wistfully. This was probably the closest he would be to her for years. . .

"Just give me this moment, Juudai. That's all I'm asking, really."

". . .If you promise to stay with me over summer break, I'll give you all of her contacts."

Manjoume jerked to look at the smug student beside him, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly as he tried to come up with something to say. But of course Juudai would have Asuka's new cell phone number, and her email, and probably her college address, too. Somehow, Juudai always had everyone's number, though how he got that kind of information was far beyond Manjoume. He stuttered, stammered, blundered for a critical moment before blurting out. "I can get that from Fubuki, thank you!"

"Oh yeah? Are you sure?" Juudai asked, his tone slightly teasing as he poked Manjoume with one finger to the ribs. The student in black squirmed in his seat, diverting his gaze to the sticky auditorium floor. "I mean, I thought that he wasn't talking to you, an' all, so. . ."

That stung, but only because it was true. When Asuka had been taken into the White Order, Fubuki had been less than pleased, to say the least. Ever since she had left it, her brother had hovered around her like an angry shadow, glowering at anyone who came close. When Manjoume had tried to talk to her, to make sure that she was okay, but also to ask if she remembered anything—_anything_ at all—about the White Order and the grace of God, Fubuki had stopped him. Fubuki had politely dismissed the two of them and placed a hand on his shoulder in a brotherly way just before slamming him into a wall and snarling into his face that if Manjoume ever so much as _thought_ about speaking to his beloved and darling baby sister ever again, Fubuki would know about it and there would be _consequences_. Manjoume had not asked for any elaboration on what those 'consequences' might be, but he imagined that it involved a substantial amount of excruciating pain and irreparable bodily harm. He gulped, and looked to Juudai cautiously, weighing the risks.

". . .Would I have to stay the whole time?"


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer/Note: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!: GX, or any of the characters here, unless otherwise mentioned. I do not own Kazuki Takahashi, and no money is being made off of this piece of fiction. This story was written solely for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, do not sue. All original ideas are original (**_**duh**_**) and belong to me, unless otherwise mentioned. I would like to share credit for much of this story with my friend and beta, The Mad Poet, who sloughed through the outline and rough drafts. Also, for coming up with many ideas and helping me to flesh out the story (and for playing Marco Polo until the wee hours of the morning). This story takes place at the end of second season, and may contain: violence, language, mind games, biblical references, cultural and religious jokes/criticism, some crude humor, psychological trauma/mental instabilities, romance, and possibly sex or sexual references. If you lack the maturity to handle all that, then please leave now. For everyone else, enjoy.**

**Saving You Saves Me**

"_The pain in your heart, you can let it all out to me. I've always been saved by that smile of yours. So go ahead and cry for now, because I'll be here as long as you need_." – 'Teardrop,' BOWL

**Chapter One**

"You mean to tell me that people actually _live_ here?" Manjoume asked dubiously, eying the chipped paint and dented plaster walls of the apartment building's lobby disdainfully. There were broken boards nailed over half the doors and windows, and old yellow '_Caution' _tape hung limply in front of the elevator doors in fraying strips. Pieces of wood and torn up newspapers littered the floor, and he could see brightly spray-painted graffiti scrawled across nearly every available flat surface. Juudai simply grinned, maneuvering around the debris to head off to one side. Manjoume stepped away from the main entrance, spinning around slowly on his heel to let his eyes pick up everything. He paused to check the state of the staircase crammed into a tiny alcove in the upper right corner of the lobby as Juudai began to climb it.

"Yep! This is home sweet home," the boy was saying as he picked up his rolling suitcase, tossing it over one shoulder so that the majority of the weight rested on his back. "Come on. We're on the eighth floor."

The stairs were made of concrete and so were not rotted, only chipped and missing pieces of certain steps. The walls were wet inside the mock-stone alcove, a sign that someone's pipes were leaking badly, the slow-running water creating little puddles on the landing where the concrete had been laid poorly and not smoothed out enough. Manjoume looked between the desolate staircase and the bulging elevator door, and then sighed.

"I don't suppose the elevator works. . .?"

"That thing?" Juudai scoffed at the notion, waiting for Manjoume on the first landing. "I think our landlady said that it hasn't worked in, like, twelve years, or something. She has a great story about how it broke, though; like, a bomb went off in there, or something. But, I mean, it's been broken since we moved in."

"You moved here? As in, _on purpose_?" Somehow, that suggestion seemed even more inconceivable than someone wanting to bomb these godforsaken homes. Manjoume followed behind, a disgusted sneer replacing the evident surprise on his face as he felt more than heard the _popcrack_ of a cockroach's exoskeleton being crushed beneath his boot.

"Hey, we've got a great view from the living room, and if we had bunk beds, then—"

"Let me guess," Manjoume interrupted sarcastically as they passed the second floor entrance and an older man on his way downstairs. Ojama Yellow clambered up onto Manjoume's head from his shoulder, peering around for a moment before clapping its ugly little hands together and leaning over to shout down to the remaining Ojamas to come out and take a look. Manjoume flicked it in the head, causing the spirit to fall and clunk noiselessly down the steps behind him. Or, at least, it _would_ have been noiseless had it not been for all of Ojama Yellow's indignant screaming. "It would be just as good as the Osiris Red dorms?"

"Ha! No way," Juudai retorted in good humor, shifting the suitcase on his back in an attempt to redistribute the weight more comfortably. Or maybe just to fidget with something, since his hands were both occupied. "It would be even _better_ than the dorms. My mama is amazing, you know. Her cooking puts the dorm's to shame."

"Not that that's hard or anything. . ."

"Oh, man! I hope we're having fried shrimp tonight. My mama makes the best fried shrimp ever, Manjoume."

"-_San da_. Manjoume-_san da_," he corrected halfheartedly, glaring at the many different gang names and idly speculating about what had happened to the railing, since it was not there. This staircase _had_ to have been built with a railing, right? Maybe it had been ripped up by the inhabitants of the building and burned in the winter, because they had no heat. Or perhaps two rival gangs had pulled it apart to make impromptu weapons so they could beat each other to death. Whatever the case, it was no wonder that Juudai had thought the dorms were luxurious, living in a run-down project like this for God only knew how long. "And I'm sure that your mother is an excellent cook, Juudai."

"No, no, no, Manjoume. You gotta call my mama 'Mama,'" Juudai informed him of this rule as they passed the fourth floor entrance. Manjoume had been glancing down the hall, indulging in his new hobby of fabricating stories to explain why Rintama was the way that it was. Currently, that meant he was trying to decide upon suitable chemicals that would, when applied to the brain in large doses, result in higher levels of aggression while lowering overall intelligence, especially in teenagers and young adults. If that chemical was present in the water, he reasoned, that would explain Rintama's overabundance of juvenile delinquents and other hoodlums, all of whom could be seen loitering around doors and bothering people on streets and in hallways. He raised a brow questioningly when Juudai finished talking, hoping that his dubious look would compel the other boy to explain in greater detail, which Juudai happily did. "_Everybody_ calls my mama 'Mama.' She'll, like, I dunno, get mad if you don't."

Manjoume was struck by the terrifying possibility that Juudai might take after his mother. He shuddered at the idea, but kept climbing. Ojama Yellow had finally caught up with him, and was now clinging to his pant leg, despite Manjoume's best efforts to shake it loose. With his frustration at both the Ojama and his companion rising quickly, he snapped: "Look, Juudai. I am _not_ calling your mother 'Mama.' I don't even call my _own_ mother that. And what do you mean by 'everybody,' anyway?"

"Well, Kenzan—"

"Kenzan also calls you his 'big brother,'" Manjoume reminded him, accompanying the statement with a flat glare. He managed to brush Ojama Yellow off when he finally took the time to swat at the ugly little monster. The little Duel Monster sat down on the step with a loud sniffle, crying about how it felt unloved. Three dark eyes peeked around his head as Manjoume began taking the steps two at a time to get away from the ruckus. Ojamas Green and Black both loudly lamented over their fallen brother. Manjoume raised his voice, almost shouting so that he could hear himself above the squall. "When have I _ever_ referred to you, or anyone outside of my immediate family, for that matter, as my brother?"

"Uhm. . .Fubuki, once? I think?"

"_He_ does not _count_. The point is, I don't even want to be _associated_ with you most of the time. What on _Earth_ makes you think I'd want to be _related_ to you?"

"I dunno," Juudai grinned over his shoulder back at Manjoume, playfully adding. "Maybe it's your secret desire."

"Are you even listening to yourself when you speak?"

"Not usually, no."

Manjoume laughed at that as they passed the seventh floor exit. Juudai began skipping steps, too, to keep from falling behind. They shared a competitive look for a brief second, and then the race was on. Manjoume burst through the exit to their floor first, with Juudai barreling in at a close second. He pushed past the black-haired boy, who caught himself from falling just in time by grabbing onto the handle of one of the doors. Juudai shouted over his shoulder:

"Last one to the door has to buy popsicles!"

"Not fair! I don't know which one is yours!" Manjoume hollered back, tearing after Juudai all the same. He was faster than Juudai, even without the extra weight that the new lead was carrying. Manjoume knew that he could run circles around the school's hero any day. He caught up with Juudai just as the boy was stopping in front of what Manjoume assumed was his front door, apartment number 863. Juudai shot him a victorious grin before unlocking the door.

"Mama! I'm home!" Juudai called out as he opened it to reveal the inside of the tiny, cluttered apartment. There were still cardboard boxes in the living room, presumably from when they had moved in. Cheap comics and old cards were spread out over the little coffee table like offerings, much in the manner that was expected from someone as single-minded as Juudai. Manjoume imagined that this was exactly the way that the main room had been left when school started last year. The boys took their shoes off by the door, Manjoume setting his aside neatly and Juudai kicking his off to lie in the middle of the path haphazardly as he ventured farther inside. "Mama?"

"Welcome home! Sorry, Juudai, but I'm running a little late today. . ." a woman's voice answered from a darkened hallway to the right. She did not sound old enough to be Juudai's mother, but that might have been Manjoume's bias speaking; his own mother, while many years younger than his father, was not young by any stretch of the imagination. Of course, had he not known that Juudai was an only child he would have assumed that this was his older sister. The woman who appeared from around the corner had short brown hair and tired eyes, dark circles only partially hidden by her make-up. She was wearing a dark skirt and white blouse, holding a pair of small heels in one hand while she tried to get the last few buttons on the shirt done. She stopped in her tracks when she noticed Manjoume looking awkward by the door, brows knitting together and a fleeting look of disappointment crossing her face before a polite smile took their place. "Oh, I see you brought a friend over. . ."

"Sorry for the intrusion."

"Mama, this is Manjoume. He's my awesome friend from school who helped me save the world, like, twice. Manjoume, this is Mama. She is amazingly cool, and makes good shrimp," Juudai gushed over them both proudly, wandering into the living room to drop his bags on the couch. As an afterthought, he added to the introduction. "Oh yeah, I told him he could stay over for the week. That's okay, right?"

"Juudai. . ." his mother sighed, putting a hand to her forehead in a gesture of exasperated defeat. The smile quickly turned to a frown, which was probably not uncommon, given who her child was. "Would it kill you to _ask_ me before you start inviting people over? Just _once_ would you consult me first?"

"You mean you didn't ask first?" Manjoume stared, mortified at the situation unfolding before him. Juudai looked down with a sheepish smile, mumbling something about not thinking that anyone would mind. Mrs. Yuki shook her head, picking up her purse from where it was resting atop a stack of months-old magazines on the hallway end table. After a brief moment of scrounging, she handed Juudai several folded bills.

"If my being here is a problem, I can—" Manjoume began after finally overcoming his shock, but was softly interrupted by Juudai's mother. She gave him a sweet, sincere little smile that crinkled the skin at the corners of her eyes.

"Not at all! I'm not about to kick you out into the cold just because my Juudai is irresponsible. You're welcome to stay for the whole week, Manjoume-kun. As for you, young man. . ." she reached out to Juudai, her hand coming to rest on the side of his head that Manjoume could not see. The yelp and fruitless flailing that followed, however, gave away her actions. She had grabbed him by the ear rather roughly—judging from her captive's reaction, at least. Manjoume hid a snicker behind one hand. "You had better be thankful that I'm working tonight. Now, I'm already late, so I'll make this quick. I won't be back until tomorrow afternoon, maybe early evening, because one of the girls called in sick. I'm working a swing-shift between a double, and I need you to buy groceries for the next few days. There's a list on the fridge, with the yen needed. Follow it exactly, and do not get anything extra. Feed yourself and Manjoume-kun, and please clean up your room and the dining room table before I get back. Don't be too loud or rowdy, because Miss Kinoshita in the room below us just got back from the hospital and needs some quiet time to recover. All right?"

"Yes, yes, okay! Just let go already!" Juudai wailed, arms flapping around uselessly as he twisted in her grip. Manjoume decided that he liked Mrs. Yuki, if only because she had remained calm and had not raised her voice or changed her tone despite the circumstances. He watched as she released her son and gave the boy a quick peck on the cheek before pulling on her heels. Manjoume quickly stepped aside and let her leave for work. Juudai rubbed at his ear sullenly, pouting at the closing door. "Well, that's my mama. She's usually nicer, though. . ."

"She's a lot younger than I was expecting," Manjoume noted after a moment, finally wading deeper into the apartment to set his own bag down on a patch of cleared floor next to the couch. "How old is she?"

"Uh. . .like, two hundred? I dunno. She's old," Juudai replied with a snort, pulling the trash can out of the cramped little kitchen and beginning to sort through the old mail on the dining room table. Manjoume shot a glare in his general direction, shooing the remaining Ojamas off of his shoulder. They dove into a nearby mound of boxes, playing in the torn-up shirts and elementary drawings that they had discovered. No doubt that they were right at home; this was not far removed from the trash heap Manjoume had found them in.

"She looks like she's Chosaku's age!"

"Yeah, well, your brothers are both freakishly old. This shouldn't be news to you."

"You're an idiot," Manjoume fumed, lost for a better comeback. Juudai just shrugged, and tossed a stack of magazines and loose paper into the trash. Silence soon followed, disturbed only by the obnoxious squawking of the two Ojamas and the _thump_ of Juudai discarding things by the pile. Suddenly, the older boy seemed to perk up, turning and gesturing excitedly to his companion as the beginnings of some grandiose—but inherently nonsensical—plan started to form in his head.

"Hey! If your brother married my mom—"

"_No_, Juudai. Now stop talking."

* * *

An hour into cleaning, Manjoume jumped back from the coffee table with a startled yell. There, beneath the outdated card catalogs, was a book bound in dark human skin, pulsing veins scattered across the clasped double-cover. Manjoume knew it immediately, was intimately familiar with its past and purpose. He had been a sacrifice to that book once.

That was Amnael's book.

"What the Hell is this doing just lying out in the open?" he practically screeched the question at Juudai, who did not seem perturbed in the least. "Can't you hide it in your room at the least?"

"You're standing in my room, Manjoume," he replied with a chuckle, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the counter separating the living room from the kitchen. "This is a one bedroom apartment."

Manjoume's mouth worked silently for a moment, shocked that Juudai could be so nonchalant about the whole thing. Juudai had been told to keep the book safe; the book had been entrusted to him to keep hidden and out of the wrong hands. And here it was, the Emerald Tablet that had all the secrets of alchemy and immortality housed inside, sitting on a coffee table in a run-down apartment in Rintama. This was ridiculous, insane, even. This. . .

"_This_ is _not_ hiding it!" he shouted when he finally found his voice, grabbing the book off the table and grimacing at the texture as he shook it at Juudai accusingly. Juudai brought a finger to his lips as a sign to quiet down, pointing to the floor as if to remind Manjoume that he had a neighbor down there. Then he shrugged.

"Where do you want me to put it? With the other cultist junk I've got?"

By 'cultist junk,' Manjoume assumed that he meant the golden items they had won from the members of the Seven Stars back in their freshman year. Manjoume dropped the foul book onto the sofa, glaring sternly at his irresponsible companion.

"Don't tell me that you have _those_ just lying out in the open, too."

"Nah, they're in a box. That one," Juudai pointed absently to one of the many cardboard moving boxes that lay to either side of the sofa. Manjoume opened it up, pushing aside binders filled with playing cards and pulling out old school uniforms to get to the bottom. Sure enough, nestled in amidst a smorgasbord of unmatched socks, lay the golden items Juudai had collected. The ring from Kagemaru, the gauntlet he had won from Tanya, the circlet given to him by Abydos, and, finally, the choker from the vampire Carmilla. It was all there.

_. . .Wait a minute_.

"Juudai," Manjoume began the question calmly, a hint of worry lacing his serious tone. "Where's the amulet?"

There was no response from the other side of the room. Manjoume's head snapped up, and he repeated the question. "_Where_ is _the amulet_?"

"Oh, yeah. . .that."

"What do you mean, 'oh yeah, that?' This is not an 'oh yeah, that' kind of situation!" Manjoume erupted, making sharp, abrupt gestures with his hands and arms. He was breathing rapidly, eyes wide and hands twitching ever so slightly from unspent tension. Had someone broken in and taken the amulet? He did not know if that was even possible; no one had tried it, since only the keys were targeted, and the Dark Scorpions had not mentioned anything about them before. Did this mean that someone knew where the items and the book were? Would they be coming for the remaining two? Should they warn Asuka? Manjoume watched as Juudai reached up to fiddle with the collar of his jacket, a habit that—until recently, at least—Manjoume could have sworn the boy did not have.

"I'm wearing it."

"You. . .y-you're _what_?"

"Look, the Gravekeeper's Chief said that it would protect me in times of darkness and. . .and light. _Blinding_ light," Juudai explained in a rush, the hand that had been fiddling with his collar now resting on his chest where Manjoume assumed the amulet was currently hanging. "So far, I've dealt with _both_. And besides, it's not like it does anything _bad_."

"Right, because being used in evil rituals to play Dark Games in order to steal people's _souls_ couldn't _possibly_ be considered _bad_."

"Look, I _know_ that it's really a good thing because—" Manjoume cut Juudai off, dismissing the bouncing excitement with a wave of one hand.

"If this is another alien dolphin thing, I _will_ hit you," he warned. Juudai's grin just grew, and he flopped down on the couch beside Amnael's book.

"Nah, no alien dolphins this time. Nobody _told_ me that it was good; I know first-hand," he poked at the golden disc on the cover of the book, fingering the indentations where the eye used to be. Manjoume remembered that eye from before Amnael's loss, from before the book fell to the ground and the eye had shattered into pieces, causing him to shudder and look away in disgust. "It protected us against Carmilla's Phantom Gate, and now. . .well, now, y'see, when I take it off, I can't see any duel monsters."

"What?"

"Yeah, I know it's weird. But. . .like right now, I know where the Ojama brothers and my partner are, but as soon as I take it off?" Juudai just shook his head, tossing his arms up in a gesture of defeat. "_Pfft_. Sometimes, I can't even see my cards. Not even the Neospacians! Ever since I came back from. . .well, it's almost been like. . ."

"Like what?" Manjoume prompted when Juudai trailed off, curiosity growing and that heavy, sinking feeling back in his gut.

"Like the Light is still out there, and that worries me."


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer/Note: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!: GX, or any of the characters here, unless otherwise mentioned. I do not own Kazuki Takahashi, and no money is being made off of this piece of fiction. This story was written solely for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, do not sue. All original ideas are original (**_**duh**_**) and belong to me, unless otherwise mentioned. I would like to share credit for much of this story with my friend and beta, The Mad Poet, who sloughed through the outline and rough drafts. Also, for coming up with many ideas and helping me to flesh out the story (and for playing Marco Polo until the wee hours of the morning). This story takes place at the end of second season, and may contain: violence, language, mind games, biblical references, cultural and religious jokes/criticism, some crude humor, psychological trauma/mental instabilities, romance, and possibly sex or sexual references. If you lack the maturity to handle all that, then please leave now. For everyone else, enjoy.**

**Saving You Saves Me**

"_The pain in your heart, you can let it all out to me. I've always been saved by that smile of yours. So go ahead and cry for now, because I'll be here as long as you need_." – 'Teardrop,' BOWL

**Chapter Two**

"Have you ever had to break a door down before, Juudai?" Manjoume posed the question dubiously as he took the backpack from the other boy's outstretched hand. His companion turned to him with a grin and wink before pulling something out of his jacket pocket.

"Nah, I always knew guys like Kenzan who were really good at that kind of thing. But!" he exclaimed, and tinkered with the padlock for a moment before continuing. Juudai made brief work of it, and soon the lock and rusty chain that had held the access door shut fell to the ground with a clatter. He beamed, obviously quite proud of himself. "_I _am pretty damn good at picking locks!"

"You do this whole 'breaking and entering' thing a lot, don't you?"

"Manjoume—"

"—_San da_."

"Whatever," Juudai did not even bother pausing in his speech. "Why are you surprised, anyway? How'd you think I broke into the school so many times? Busted a window?"

Manjoume just shrugged as he handed Juudai a flashlight and the backpack. Inside the bag was Amnael's book wrapped in the only white t-shirt Juudai owned. The boy had promised not to miss it. After a moment of wrestling with the rusted access door, Juudai pried it open, and the two boys found themselves looking down an old, dark elevator shaft. Manjoume gave the rusted maintenance ladder a doubtful kick.

"Think it'll hold?" he asked, feeling a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was excited for this, but did not want the other to know. Juudai stepped through the open door, grabbing hold of the old rungs of the ladder once the pack was secure.

"Only one way to find out!" he beamed up at Manjoume as he headed down, the light in his hand bouncing unsteadily on the walls, plastic handle _clinking_ loudly against each rung. Manjoume flashed his own light upward, noting the ends of the severed elevator cables caught in the tracks. There were skid marks, deep gouges in the concrete, most likely caused from where the elevator had slid down to the bottom all those years ago. Then again, those marks could have been caused by the normal wear of an elevator going up and down for years and years. Manjoume did not know much about elevators, after all. "You coming, Manjoume?"

"—_San da_," he added, hardly aware of his own response as he joined his companion on the maintenance ladder. He grimaced at the feel of the rungs on his hands, and was glad that his tetanus shots were up-to-date. They began the descent into darkness marred only by the unsteady beams of the flashlights in their hands. After they had passed the first set of exit doors going down, Manjoume asked: "Why are we climbing down an abandoned elevator shaft with no safety gear? I mean, just to refresh my memory."

Juudai laughed, the sound echoing off the walls around them for a moment before fading into nothing.

"You said I needed a better hiding spot for Amnael's book, right? So, we're scoping out the bottom of this elevator shaft to see if it'll work."

"Uh-huh," Manjoume said dryly, not quite believing him. "_Sure_."

"What's wrong? You're not, like, _scared_, are you?" Juudai sounded downright snarky when he asked, his tone teasing.

"Don't be stupid, of course not!"

"Then stop whi—Ow! That was my hand!"

Manjoume smirked into the darkness. "Then climb faster."

* * *

"Hold up, I think this is it."

Manjoume stopped his descent, light swiveling downward as he twisted on the old ladder to look below. The top of the elevator—or, at least, what was left of it—was a mess of twisted metal, sharp ends catching the light where it fell on them. Manjoume grimaced in the dark; it did not look like it would be easy to climb. It looked slick and unstable. It looked like any weight would cause the top to come crashing down into the remains of the elevator. Juudai was fumbling with the backpack, one arm looped around a rung of the ladder. Manjoume swung the light around closer to the wall.

"Looks like blast damage took out the rest of the ladder," he noted idly, his light dancing across the side of the shaft. It was true; the ladder stopped two rungs below Juudai's boots, which Manjoume estimated to be about five or six feet above the mangled top of the elevator. With his flashlight in the backpack now, Juudai lowered himself down until he was hanging onto the last rung with one hand. Manjoume came down a little farther as well; grabbing Juudai's other hand to help him down the last foot or so. His boots sounded heavy on the twisted metal, hollow as he peered down through the gaps and holes with Manjoume's flashlight lighting the way.

The elevator groaned loudly, and jerked at the additional weight, letting out an ear-splitting shriek of metal on concrete. Manjoume cursed, clamping his hands over his ears, and Juudai just barely stopped himself from falling and probably eviscerating himself on the elevator.

"Hey! Light would be good here!" the boy called back up to Manjoume, who quickly swung the light back down to his position. Juudai offered him a lopsided smile, and pointed to the old elevator. "It's just settling, no biggie."

"This thing _is_ at the bottom, right?" Manjoume asked, worry tainting his voice. He was just starting to realize how ridiculously dangerous this was.

"Yeah, of course. I checked with the landlord lady, and she said that that's why the elevator doors in the lobby poke out the way they do; bomb went off in the elevator on the first floor."

"What about the basement, Juudai?" Manjoume's worries only grew as Juudai looked to him with confusion.

"Huh? We have a basement?"

As if on cue, the elevator lurched downward again. Juudai fell forward, catching himself with his hands and slicing his palms open. Manjoume looped an arm around the bottom rung, holding the flashlight in that hand while his other hung down.

"Come on! Grab my hand!" He shouted, his voice just barely audible over the screeching of the elevator. Juudai staggered to his feet, hurrying as best he could to get back over to the side of the shaft with the maintenance ladder. The elevator gave out another ear-piercing shriek before plummeting down to the basement just as Juudai leapt forward, his blood-slicked hands gripping Manjoume's jacket sleeve for dear life. Manjoume grunted at the weight, gritting his teeth and breathing hard as he pulled Juudai back up to the relative safety of the broken ladder. The elevator hit the basement floor with a deafening crash, the sound of collapsing metal reverberating off the walls.

They clung to the ladder in silence for a moment while they let their ears recover, at which point Manjoume promptly slapped Juudai upside the head.

"You _moron_," he accused, thankful that the light was pointed downward and Juudai could not see the grin on his face. "Didn't you learn _anything_ at Duel Academy?"

"Ow! Of course I did!" Manjoume swung the light around as Juudai cried out defensively, rubbing at the ear that had been caught in the blow. At the dubious look from the younger boy, Juudai elaborated. "Like, I learned that cults and foreigners are _always_ bad, aliens _only_ fight for the good guys, and that I have _no idea_ how Sameshima still has a job after all that's happened."

"I mean about _buildings_, Juudai. What have we learned about _buildings_?"

"Oh," Juudai took a moment to think back very carefully, considering both the last school year and their freshman year. As if struck by the hand of enlightenment he perked, gesturing with one hand that there was, in fact, _one_ thing that they learned about buildings. "All buildings have basements, even if they weren't built with them? And beneath that basement is usually some kind of evil science lab and some more cultist stuff."

"_Exactly_."

". . .Does that mean that we have to wait for the elevator to fall down through the basement, too?" Juudai sounded disappointed, and Manjoume's light pointed down to the top of the elevator, both thinking through the likelihood of someone having made an evil alchemist hideout beneath Juudai's dilapidated apartment complex. They looked back to each other and grinned, voicing their thoughts in unison:

"_Nah_."

"You packed rope in there like I asked, right?" Manjoume asked as he handed his flashlight off to Juudai, who took it with a nod. There was a bit of struggling as Juudai tried to shine the light over his shoulder without blinding the younger boy; Manjoume, in the meantime, was unzipping the backpack and looking for the rope. He found it at the bottom after a moment of searching, pulling it out with one hand as he held onto the ladder with the other. Manjoume set to work tying one end of the rope to the ladder as Juudai fished his flashlight out of the bag and zipped it back up.

"Did they teach you sailor knots before or after that class you had on wrestling polar bears?" Juudai asked excitedly, shining the light in Manjoume's eyes while the boy was trying to test the stability of his knot and the rung it was attached to. Manjoume glared at him, sneering.

"We did not wrestle polar bears at North Academy," he said, for what must have been the millionth time since. . .well, to be honest, Manjoume was not sure _when_ Juudai had decided that polar bears had been wrestled during his stint at North, but he seemed to mention it whenever he got the chance. Manjoume was starting to wonder if maybe he just liked saying that he knew someone who wrestled polar bears and won. "And I'll have you know that I was a boy scout once."

"Dude, nuh-uh. No way. You're too much of a badass to have been a boy scout."

"I don't care what you think," Manjoume huffed defensively once he was satisfied that the rope was secure and as safe to go down as could be managed, given the situation. "Now, look; _don't_ slide down the rope. Lower yourself down, hand over hand. It's easiest if you wrap it loosely around your leg, catching the bottom with your feet. That way, you don't slip and rip all the skin off your hands."

"Did they teach you that in _boy scouts_?" Juudai teased, laughing.

"I am _not_ here to be laughed at!" Manjoume erupted, punching the chuckling teen in the shoulder once, hard, before grabbing hold of the rope. Grumbling, he added sourly. "You suck. I hope you die."

"Yeah, sure, whatever, Manjoume."

"—_San da_!"

* * *

His boots thudded down onto the mangled top of the elevator lightly, his hands releasing the rope and pulling the flashlight from his pocket to swing aimlessly over the metal beneath him. Manjoume stepped forward carefully, trying to gauge the distance to the floor inside through one of the many holes and tears in the elevator top's surface. He heard Juudai slide down the rope behind him after a moment, followed by a soft curse and the sound of the older boy rubbing at his hands. Apparently, he had not listened to the advice above. Manjoume smirked into the darkness, and lowered himself down into the elevator.

He landed in a crouch, slowly straightening and shining his light around to get a better view of the new surroundings. There were scorch marks on the crumpled walls, which had folded up on themselves like accordions, but the floor of the elevator was more or less still intact, greatly surprising Manjoume with its uneven slopes and connecting panel work. In one corner there was something dark and burned, a misshapen lump that he was slow to identify. Squinting, Manjoume took a cautious step towards it, calling up to Juudai as he did so.

"There's something down here!"

"No way, really? Awesome! Hold up a sec," came the excited reply from above, and soon the gentle tremors of Juudai's footsteps was gone, replaced with the loud _thud_ of his boots connecting with the floor inside the elevator as he jumped down to join him. Manjoume kept his light fixed on the lump in the corner. "Whatcha got?"

"I don't know. . ." Manjoume glanced back over his shoulder, not caring that the act was pointless. He could not see Juudai in the darkness behind him, but soon a second light joined his own, bouncing unsteadily over the curves and bumps of the thing in the corner. Juudai peered around the taller teen, but before Manjoume could say anything else, he walked over and proceeded to nudge it with his foot. "Hey! What are you doing?"

"Checking to see if it's dead. _Duh_," Juudai explained with a roll of his eyes and a grin, squinting as Manjoume pointed the light at his face. He nudged the lump again, dislodging a part of it. A round part from the top broke off, falling to the elevator floor with a sharp and hollow sounding _crack_. It rolled across the floor to Manjoume's foot, which the boy lifted slightly to halt the object. He shined his light on it, making sure to keep his weight off it as he rolled it around under his boot. Whatever it was, it was dingy grey, dirty and cracked, with a few holes in the rounder part that he assumed was the top. It could not have been a ball; there seemed to be planes and angles on the lower part, the sides tapering down to a rounded point at the bottom. There was a hole on the bottom below that point, something small and connective in nature hanging off of it. He rolled it over again to check the front. There were several holes, and Manjoume grimaced when he recognized the back-to-back blunt triangular shapes in the middle.

It was a human skull.

"See? Aren't you glad that I checked? That could have been a zombie, you know," Juudai was saying. Now that the lump had been identified as a dead body, the other boy was poking around with his hands, tossing aside the petrifying cloth that had obscured the shape before. Manjoume stepped down on the skull, his boot crushing the old bone easily with a loud _snap-crunch_. Juudai's grin grew larger at the sound.

"Nonsense. . .there's no such thing as zombies, Juudai."

"_Uh-huh_. Well, while they're sucking your brains out through your nose, be sure to remind them that, okay? And what about Abydos and his mummies? They were all dead and zombie-like. And Carmilla! She was a vampire, so you can't tell me that you don't—"

"You're an idiot," Manjoume sighed in exasperation, throwing his hands up in defeat. He crossed the space between them, taking the backpack from Juudai. Something black and grimy passed from the older boy's hands, and even in the dark Manjoume could see it contrast sharply with his skin. He rubbed his fingers together, looking at the slick something curiously. Part of it was blood from Juudai's palms, because the fool had not yet gotten around to wrapping his hands, but the other part of it—the gritty black smudging part—was not instantly recognizable. It was, undoubtedly, from the corpse. The idea that Juudai was rubbing an open wound over the old cloth and broken bone fragments without a care in the world was not surprising, but was definitely disgusting and not conducive to a long and healthy life. Manjoume grabbed him by the ear, yanking hard. "Do something about your hands before you _catch something_, for God's sake."

"OW! Not the ear!" the boy howled, hands immediately jerking back to his head. Manjoume released him, and Juudai moved off to one of the other corners sullenly, grumbling about how much that had hurt. With a shake of his head, Manjoume pulled Amnael's book from the confines of the backpack—which he then set down beside the wall—and walked around the dead body in search of the best spot. Under the body? No, that would not do. It was too brittle, fell apart too easily. In the unlikely event that someone else would climb all the way down here, they would instantly see that the broken body had been moved and would search beneath it. There was a moment of contemplative silence in the elevator, and Manjoume glanced back over his shoulder to his companion with worry.

But just as he did so, Manjoume was roughly pushed from the side, half turning as he lost his footing on the uneven ground and fell backwards with an undignified yelp. His back slammed into the distorted wall of the elevator, his head snapping back on his neck forcibly. He felt it strike one of the protruding edges of the crunched wall, and something wet and warm began to pour down from that spot, catching only briefly in his hair before seeping down along the inside of the collar of his jacket to soak into his dark turtleneck. Manjoume gasped, and the flashlight and book he had been holding fell from his hands to clatter noisily onto the floor, the light rolling away. His world was filled with darkness; his light not bright enough to be of any use to him now.

It was Juudai who had attacked him, Juudai who was gripping him by the lapels of his old North Academy jacket and shaking him hard. The older boy brought his face close to Manjoume's, both breathing unsteadily. There was a dull, pulsing yellow glow coming up from beneath Juudai's shirt, hovering above his heart and lending his eyes a decidedly golden tint when their gazes locked. Manjoume swallowed hard, bringing both hands up in a confused gesture of surrender.

"A-are you—"

"There's no such thing as God," Juudai interrupted, further surprising Manjoume with just how calm and serious he sound when he said it. It reminded him of the way an adult might speak to a misbehaving child; it reminded him of the way his brothers had sometimes spoken to him when he was younger. Juudai did not sound like Juudai. His voice was lower, deeper, and flat; deadpan and solemn. Manjoume opened his mouth to put up some kind of hasty defense, but closed it just as quickly with a soft snap of teeth. Now would not have been a good time to quote John or Isaiah. Juudai leaned in closer as he continued, no longer shaking him. "Tell me you don't believe in God. Tell me there's no such thing as 'fate' or 'destiny,' Manjoume."

"I. . ."

He did not want to lie. Ever since Juudai had forced that stupid "brainwashed into being a cultist" idea onto him, there had been nothing but trouble. It was the perfect excuse for his actions, but it was a foul lie that tasted bitter in his mouth and burned his tongue like acid when he went along with it. The whole Society had picked up the notion, run with it like it would somehow save them from the fire when they died. Manjoume shook his head, chin dropping to rest against his collarbone. Their faces brushed against each other in the dark. But what was one more black stain on his soul, one more added shadow to his humanity? Manjoume did not know how to break the truth to his companion, and—judging from Juudai's reaction to the word 'god'—now did not seem like the right time to do so. He forced a smile, though it could not be seen, and snorted derisively, shoving Juudai off of him.

"Get a hold of yourself, Juudai; do you _see_ any White Thunder down here?"

The tension in the air melted away with those words, and the eerie glow of the amulet beneath Juudai's shirt seemed to dissipate with it. Even in the darkness Manjoume could see Juudai's beaming grin, the white of his teeth just barely visible in the dim light from the discarded flashlight. Manjoume briefly wondered what became of the older boy's light, but dismissed the question in favor of asking something a bit more practical. "Are you okay?"

"Gotcha."

The catchphrase, coupled with the obnoxious gesture that was suddenly pointed just inches from the end of his nose, completely shattered the solemnity of the moment. Manjoume lashed out with an infuriated snarl, slapping the other upside the head. Juudai laughed, moving back and out of sight quickly as he fled from any subsequent blows. While he would not admit it, Manjoume felt a bit relieved. This was still Juudai, and everything was going to go back to normal. Or, at least, back to being as normal as things ever got for students who went to Duel Academy.

"Hey, you know, it really sucks that you dropped your light, 'cause I don't know where mine is now," the older boy lamented wistfully, tearing the bottom half of his shirt to make wraps for his hands. The fabric's abrupt ripping noise seemed impossibly loud in the otherwise quiet elevator shaft. Manjoume just snorted again. "How come we don't have night vision? That would totally have made this spelunking trip so much cooler."

"Because we didn't take that elective."

"Damn! Can we do that next year, Manjoume?"

"—_San da_. Juudai, if you can't stop being stupid, then just shut up."

"Yikes! Someone's grumpy," Juudai teased, chuckling to himself. Manjoume shook his head as if trying to clear it of any nonsense and get back to the task at hand. He would break Juudai's nose when they got back to the roof. Kneeling, Manjoume groped through the darkness blindly, trying to find the book that he had dropped. The light was not as important right now: they still had to find a place to hide Amnael's book. There was a scrabbling sound from across the elevator, and Manjoume lifted his head just in time to be blinded by light. One arm flew up to shield his eyes, and Manjoume let out a startled yell.

"Aah!"

"Oops! Sorry 'bout that. . ." came the sheepish reply, and Juudai quickly averted the recovered flashlight's beam. Manjoume glared at the darkened figure behind the light, lowering his arm as he did so. His hand came down on something flesh-like, covered in veins and seeming to breathe. He recoiled quickly at first, but then, as he realized that it was just the book he had been searching for, he tentatively reached out for it. His fingers touched over the t-shirt that it had been wrapped in, and he moved the cloth back to conceal that awful cover. "So, where are we putting that thing?"

"I don't know. I was hoping for somewhere that no one would think to loo—"

"The floor!"

"Huh?" Manjoume tilted his head to the side in confusion as he got to his feet, tucking the book under his arm and grabbing the backpack on his way to straightening. "What?"

"The floor," Juudai explained excitedly, the light bouncing over the cracked and broken panels as though seeking something special. "It's all messed up, so no one would know if we moved one of these panels and put the book under it. And we wouldn't forget, because we know that you always find cultist stuff under basements. Nobody would think to look there unless they went to Duel Academy!"

Although part of this logic was skewed and faulty, as was to be expected from Juudai, Manjoume had to admit that he had a point. It did not look like it would be hard to finish ripping up one of the panels and then to put it back once the book was in place. Strange. . .he had not thought that Juudai would have been the one to think of it first. Manjoume shrugged off the feeling, and nodded his agreement with Juudai's plan.

"We should go for that one," Manjoume noted, pointing to the corner opposite the corpse. Juudai's light swiveled to follow. They walked over to the edge of the panel in question, examining the damage. This was one of the few panels that had rippled, broken from the others but not cracked when the bomb went off and the elevator fell. Juudai kicked at the raised edge dubiously, as if not understanding. Manjoume continued. "We don't even have to pull it up this way; we can just push the book through the uplifted end and force it as far back as we can."

"Oh," Juudai held the vowel sound for a moment longer than normal, slight fluctuations telling Manjoume that the older boy was not being sarcastic. "Say, Manjoume?"

"—_San da_."

"Whatever. How do we get the book back out?"

Manjoume's head jerked to the side, and he looked at Juudai with a mixed sense of confusion and worry. Why would Juudai be concerned with getting the book back _out_? Amnael's book stole souls for sacrifice and housed the ancient secrets of alchemy and immortality; Manjoume was certain that it truly _was _the Emerald Tablet brought down from the heavens. Juudai kept his gaze focused on the floor panel, eyes narrowed in deep thought. They were both silent for a long time.

". . .We _don't_, Juudai. Not _ever._"


	4. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer/Note: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!: GX, or any of the characters here, unless otherwise mentioned. I do not own Kazuki Takahashi, and no money is being made off of this piece of fiction. This story was written solely for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, do not sue. All original ideas are original (**_**duh**_**) and belong to me, unless otherwise mentioned. I would like to share credit for much of this story with my friend and beta, The Mad Poet, who sloughed through the outline and rough drafts. Also, for coming up with many ideas and helping me to flesh out the story (and for playing Marco Polo until the wee hours of the morning). This story takes place at the end of second season, and may contain: violence, language, mind games, biblical references, cultural and religious jokes/criticism, some crude humor, psychological trauma/mental instabilities, romance, and possibly sex or sexual references. If you lack the maturity to handle all that, then please leave now. For everyone else, enjoy.**

**Saving You Saves Me**

"_The pain in your heart, you can let it all out to me. I've always been saved by that smile of yours. So go ahead and cry for now, because I'll be here as long as you need_." – 'Teardrop,' BOWL

**Chapter Three**

"You mean. . ." Fubuki began slowly, as if weighing his choice of words carefully on the tip of his tongue before allowing them to pass his lips into reality. He was not usually this meticulous about his speech, did not usually pick his words in such a way. His brown eyes narrowed thoughtfully, gaze crossing the wide wooden desk to look at Sameshima with some dark emotion hiding just below and beyond the boyish façade. He was angry, of this Sameshima was certain, and it made the principal's skin crawl with an ill sense of foreboding that he just could not place. "I can't go home at all this year. Or next year, for that matter. You're telling me that I'm _stuck_ on this island until I _die_."

"Please, Tenjoin-kun; there's no need to put it in such a negative light," Sameshima assured him, a strange inflection on the words belying the strain this conversation was putting on him. He took a seat in his high-backed office chair, wringing his hands with uncustomary worry. They had talked about this last year, about why Fubuki could not go home. It had not gone well then, either. Sameshima sighed, no longer toying with his hands but instead letting them grip the arm rests of the chair tightly. Fubuki could not go home because it had been decided by the founder of the Morality Committee that Fubuki—though a good boy and an outstanding former student—could not be trusted to leave the island. Sameshima did not like to admit this, but in the privacy of his own mind, it seemed better to be honest than to be tactful.

On a purely personal note, he did not have much faith in Fubuki's individual agenda. While he would be more than confidant in placing the lives of himself and others in the boy's hands, he did not believe that Fubuki should be allowed free reign over his own affairs. The story of what had happened in the Fourth Dorm had too many holes and did not quite come together as nicely as it should have. What had really happened eight years ago? Was Daitokuji really the only one to blame for the disappearance of so many students? Sameshima thought that until he could be certain that Fubuki was telling the truth, he wanted to keep that boy close at hand where he could be watched and monitored and—yes, as horrible and awful as it may have sounded when voiced aloud—_taken care of_ should he prove to still be 'under the influence' of Darkness. _If_, he thought with a grim sinking feeling, _there had ever been any outside influence at all_. Fubuki only snorted at the principal's previous statement, crossing his arms over his chest and continuing in that very serious tone of his.

"What am I supposed to tell my parents, Sameshima-san? They haven't seen me in almost _eight years_, you know," he pointed out, laying both hands palm down on the desk's glossy surface with fingers splayed wide. Sameshima turned his attention to the small smudge marks they would leave behind once moved. He did not usually look away when talking to his students, but this was different. The boy had been kept on the island all of last year as well, even though they had been understaffed and Sameshima himself had had to leave in the middle of the summer. Fubuki had complained then, too, that he had wanted to see his parents; had said that he had been planning it for quite some time, and that they were expecting him to go back with his sister. Fubuki was angry, but this tension that Sameshima felt in the air was caused by something more. It was low and sinister and seemed to be brewing just beneath the surface; it was something that Sameshima was not sure that he was ready to face. He hoped that it, whatever it was, would not come to light now. "We can't keep this 'student teacher' pretense up forever."

Sameshima dragged his gaze up from the boy's hands, sought an answer to his worst fears in the narrowed eyes across the desk. Whatever dark emotion or fleeting sentiment that he thought that he had seen was gone though—if it had, in fact, ever been present at all. Standing before him was just a confused young man who wanted, more than anything, to go home. Sameshima could appreciate that desire, although he could not allow himself to give in to it. Perhaps he had been teaching here too long; it seemed that the events of the last decade had given rise to an uncharacteristic paranoia.

Or maybe young Juudai was right, and he was simply getting too old to fully appreciate the bizarre and unbelievable things that tended to happen at Duel Academy. Maybe all of these conspiracies and back-stabbings, all of the dirty legislation and twisted, selfish board members were starting to get the better of him. Was he so jaded, so cynical and _old_ that he could no longer see the inherent goodness of people? More importantly, how had he allowed this to happen? If he could not trust his students, if he could not assure himself of their pure hearts and innocent minds, then he did not belong in education. He had no business being involved with shaping children into the kind of adults that the world needed. He offered the boy in front of him a small smile, as if hoping that the change of expression would forgive his transgressions.

"I am well aware of that, Tenjoin-kun, which is why I have a proposition for you," at this point Sameshima pulled a drawer open, retrieving a bland white folder from inside and setting it on the desk between them. Fubuki's eyes widened slightly, brows arching and his face taking on a rather comical parody of the confusion it had previously held. Sameshima began to explain in a rather roundabout manner. "You're a bright young man, Tenjoin-kun, and due to your–" here, the principal coughed politely "–extended absence, we've been forced to credit you the hours that you missed during your involvement, however unwilling, with the Seven Stars assassins. Because of the circumstances and in order for the Academy to save face, we had to come up with some sort of, ah, _cover story_, which we then sent to all of the parents of the missing students of the Fourth Dorm. That was the birth of the fictional 'American transfer program,' which we used as the explanation for everyone's absence. So you see, because this lie has had to live for so long, you have already attained your high school diploma from this institution, as well as a Bachelor's Degree focusing in the physical sciences from an American college that agreed to work with us.

"In addition to your Bachelor's Degree we also gave you a teaching degree, in the event that any of you ever returned and this kind of a situation arose," Sameshima paused, opening the file to reveal a legal document of some kind. He placed the papers out on the desk in a line, first a copy of all three of the degrees he had just mentioned and then several pages filled with legal jargon that was sure to slip up even the most cautious of lawyers. "Thus, I would like to offer you a permanent position as duel Academy's new chemistry teacher. As you know, we've been without one ever since Daitokuji-sensei went missing."

"You. . .want to have me on staff? As a member of the faculty?" Fubuki asked, his tone exposing the utter disbelief that his face kept hidden. Sameshima just smiled The action seemed to be contagious, as it was soon mirrored on Fubuki. Sameshima placed a pen from his drawer on the desk next to the papers.

"I have faith in you, Tenjoin-kun. And besides. This way, we have a perfectly legitimate excuse to keep you on campus where you can be watched and monitored at all times."

They both shared a good-natured laugh at this, and Sameshima was surprised by how readily the mirth bubbled forth from their mouths. It would not have been so strange had it been in jest, but he was certain Fubuki knew that he spoke in all seriousness. Still, it had not seemed forced on the boy's part. Fubuki picked up the pen, pulling the cap off and dragging the contract closer so that he could attempt to read the fine print before signing.

"Could I be the adviser of the Drama Club?" he asked excitedly, pen hovering just above the dotted line. Sameshima nodded emphatically, clasping his hands together in front of him with schoolboy glee.

"Certainly, my boy! I'll have a talk with Fujiwara-sensei about it at the next staff meeting. We'll sort out all the details then."

"So. . .all I have to do is sell you my soul and my freedom, and I get to be on the payroll? And the Drama Club adviser? Sounds like a deal to me," Fubuki chuckled at his own joke as he signed his name in his typical, slightly strange way. He wrote his first name first, in pure English characters, and then finished his last with his usual flourishes, as '10JOIN.' It was an interesting signature, and Sameshima almost took a moment to wonder where the boy had picked up the habit of writing his name like that. Then, of course, he remembered that this was Fubuki, and nothing he did ever made sense.

A tiny voice of grounded sanity piped up from the corner of Sameshima's mind, but it was abruptly silenced. He did not want to hear what that voice had to say; did not want to heed any cryptic warnings from his instincts. The voice had been going to wonder why there was such a drastic change in Fubuki's attitude, to try to use logic to discern some kind of ulterior motive for wanting to be made a teacher here. But that was not something that Sameshima wanted to dwell on. For whatever reasons, Fubuki was willing to stay on the island and quietly go along with whatever plans the board members and the founder of the Morality Committee deemed appropriate. He knew that he needed to learn how to trust his students again and right now was as good a time as any.

Sameshima stood, taking Fubuki's hand and shaking it enthusiastically as he welcomed him into the faculty ranks. "It's a pleasure to have you join us, Tenjoin-kun. I'm sure that this coming year will be filled with excitement and new challenges. I'm looking forward to working with you."

* * *

Manjoume thought that it had been eerily quiet since they had left Amnael's book at the bottom of the elevator shaft almost two days ago. There had been no loud bumps or thumps during the night, no high-pitched screaming from the Ojama Brothers. The Dark Scorpions and several of the other spirits that he had taken in had not shown up since leaving the Academy this year, either. He had only just recently gotten used to the constant noise again, and its absence was both puzzling and frightening when paired with Juudai's uneasy feeling about the Light. Was it really still out there? Did that mean that Saiou had risen from the dead?

He leaned back where he was sitting on the dingy concrete steps leading up to Juudai's apartment complex, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he watched his companion jogging towards him with hands full. Now would have been a _bad_ time to liken Saiou to Christ and praise him for finally shedding his temporary form to do the work of the Lord. Manjoume's fingers itched for the familiar texture of his Bible's thin pages. But Juudai was back now, and only God knew how the older boy would react to such talk. The school's hero sat down beside him with a beaming grin and handed over something cold wrapped in plastic. He had just returned from a trip to the small store a block down, where he had not gotten groceries or lunch, but something far more important.

He had gotten popsicles.

Apparently Juudai had a natural talent for befriending elderly shop keepers, because the boy had gone down there with only a smile and some vapid story and had gotten two popsicles for the trouble. Manjoume's was green, and when he tore the top of the plastic off it tasted like ice and the barest hint of some unrecognizable fruit. Juudai was babbling about the shop keeper's brother-in-law, who used to fly planes for the air force before dying in a crash. Manjoume wondered how the other boy had found out about that, since the original story dealt with neither planes nor the military. He gave Juudai a questioning look.

"I never pay for _anything_ if I can help it," Juudai confided in his friend, adding. "It's against everything I believe in."

"Does that mean you're a thief?" Manjoume's expression had leveled off into a flat glare when he asked. Juudai scoffed loudly at this, taking on an air of wounded dignity. He opened the popsicle's wrapping with his teeth and then turned his nose up to his companion as he replied haughtily:

"Gee, _thanks. S_tealing isn't the _only_ way to get stuff for free, okay?"

Still, he was not _exactly_ denying the accusation. They lapsed into silence, watching some of the high school thugs that Rintama was so famous for hustling innocent pedestrians on the opposite street as they ate their popsicles.

"Y'know, I think that if an evil supervillain ever tried to destroy the world's supply of popsicles, I would have to become a superhero to stop him," Juudai announced after a moment, breaking Manjoume's previously pensive mood. The boy in black rolled his eyes. While at school, he had learned that Juudai loved popsicles and believed that no bonding outside of public bathhouses could be done without them. He briefly wondered where his companion could have picked up this kind of ridiculous thinking, but was interrupted as the boy continued. "I mean, like a really awesome one, with laser vision and stuff."

"_Laser vision_, Juudai? That's the stupidest thing you've said all day. Good luck with that."

"Wow, you totally need to work on your people skills, Manjoume."

"—_San da_," Manjoume added, biting a piece of his popsicle off and chewing it slowly. Juudai stared at him, horrified, as though he had just witnessed someone biting off the head of a puppy. He removed his own popsicle from his mouth to pose a question:

"Did you just use your _teeth_?"

". . .What on Earth is the matter with you?"

"Dude!" the older boy exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his popsicle. Manjoume scooted out of the frozen juice's way lest it end up in his hair. "You can't use your _teeth_; that's just _wrong_. Popsicles aren't meant to be chewed, okay? Only really bad people eat their popsicles like that."

"Are you trying to insinuate that I'm a villain?"

"Well, you never know. . ." Juudai eyed him cautiously, as though thinking very hard about the prospect as he sucked the dye from the tip of his popsicle. "You could be."

Manjoume rolled his eyes again, and was thankful for the silence that they soon fell back into.


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer/Note: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!: GX, or any of the characters here, unless otherwise mentioned. I do not own Kazuki Takahashi, and no money is being made off of this piece of fiction. This story was written solely for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, do not sue. All original ideas are original (**_**duh**_**) and belong to me, unless otherwise mentioned. I would like to share credit for much of this story with my friend and beta, The Mad Poet, who sloughed through the outline and rough drafts. Also, for coming up with many ideas and helping me to flesh out the story (and for playing Marco Polo until the wee hours of the morning). This story takes place at the end of second season, and may contain: violence, language, mind games, biblical references, cultural and religious jokes/criticism, some crude humor, psychological trauma/mental instabilities, romance, and possibly sex or sexual references. If you lack the maturity to handle all that, then please leave now. For everyone else, enjoy.**

**Saving You Saves Me**

"_The pain in your heart, you can let it all out to me. I've always been saved by that smile of yours. So go ahead and cry for now, because I'll be here as long as you need_." – 'Teardrop,' BOWL

**Chapter Four**

They were sitting quietly at a café with her looking down at the table and him stirring his coffee absently. The creamer had long since dissolved in the liquid, and the action was more idle hands at play than anything else. He coughed a little after a moment in the hope of catching her attention. Slowly the girl raised her brown eyes to meet his, tilting her head so that long blonde bangs fell off to one side. He smiled, a soft, boyish expression filled with his own particular brand of confused fondness for her. The boy cradled his cup in his hands, enjoying the warmth it lent his fingers for a minute before finally venturing to speak.

"Are you ever going to tell me why you called me out here, Asuka?" he used no formalities, no honorifics when talking to her. She was a year older, his now-graduated upperclassman, but at least for today they were equals. Her lips parted in a girlish laugh, eyes closing for a brilliant smile that would have captured the heart and rendered the mind of any lesser man useless. Luckily for him, though, he had long been immune to her feminine charms. "I mean, I didn't even know that you still had my number; I've known you for almost two years and this is the first time you've used it."

"I'm glad that you don't change cell phones often," she commented, sipping her own drink—a chai tea latte with extra cream, if he recalled correctly—as innocently as she could. He chuckled a bit, all too aware of her attempt to change the subject. The boy raised his brow questioningly at her antics, and Asuka blushed, squirming in her seat slightly. It was odd to see her so nervous. "I guess I just never realized that we lived in the same city before and—"

"Asuka, please. Enough of this," he sighed, setting his coffee aside and making emphatic gestures with his hands as he spoke. "I live three districts away, on the far side of Tokyo. That's an hour and a half on the subway. It's _hardly_ the 'same city.' Now, are you going to tell me what was so damn important that you had to call me _the day after_ we got home, and why you absolutely _had_ to see me? Maybe once we were good friends, Asuka, but we were _never_ close, and no one. Has _ever_. Called me during a break. I'm missing baseball practice for this, you know."

He had come off too impatient, too rude. Misawa suppressed an inward scowl but said nothing. It was true that it had been a long time since they had really considered one another to be comrades, in the truest sense, although he still carried the flame of friendship within him. It left him wondering how he was supposed to interact with her, and he worried that the signals he was sending were too mixed for her to make out the original message. He was just tired of stepping lightly around every subject.

"Misawa-kun. . ." she began, trailing off with a small sound of frustration. He was not exaggerating, of course; none of his friends from Duel Academy had ever called him before. It seemed like no one could be bothered to remember him when he was not physically present, and the problem had only gotten worse with time. Early in his freshman year the two of them had gotten along surprisingly well in the few classes they shared, thanks to his advanced placement. He remembered how she had teasingly mentioned that there were rumors floating around campus about them, and that she was hearing no end of complaints from Junko and Momoe about 'taking one of the cutest freshman boys' of that year 'off the market,' whatever _that_ meant. For a brief period of time people seemed to believe those baseless conjectures, and even Marufuji-senpai used to make offhand comments regarding the matter, as if he were suspicious of foul play.

But somewhere along the way, after dealing with the Seven Stars and his realization that there were quite a few things at Duel Academy that his logic and carefully grounded assertions could not account for, they had grown apart. Maybe the change had come about from his relaxation; at about the time that he no longer hid behind his scientific explanations, they had stopped talking in private. By the time that she was beginning to open up to the rest of the group and smile more easily—by the time that her brother had returned and finally woken up from his deathlike coma—there was no longer any strategic banter between them on the sidelines of the other duelists' games, and they had ceased to be study partners for Japanese literature and physics. It crossed his mind then that he had never bothered to ask why that was, and he wondered if her science grade had suffered the same way that his literature grade had.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't do anyone any good until you give it some air," he tried to prompt her gently when it did not seem like she would continue.

"What do you remember about the White Order?" she asked in a rush, her cheeks burning and eyes downcast. He made an odd hitching noise in the back of his throat, grip tightening on his coffee cup. She did not meet his startled gaze but kept her head bowed, her hands moving beneath the table. It seemed as if she was holding her breath, waiting for his answer.

". . .You mean, the Society of Light?" Misawa asked cautiously, lifting the cup up to his lips then and taking an experimental sip. It was warm and good, but he had used too much cream. He should have known better, but it had been a long time since he had had any coffee. It would have tasted better if he had taken it straight, he decided as he took another drink. Asuka shook her head, inhaling deeply before finally raising her gaze. Their eyes met, and she chewed her lower lip hesitantly before replying.

"No. I mean the White Order."

Misawa was silent for a long moment, weighing her words against his better judgment. This was not the conversation he had been hoping for, and his mind did not want to focus long enough to work out the mental calculations needed to deal with this issue. He closed his eyes and sighed, bringing a hand up to rub against his temples. He did not see Asuka tilt her head to the side questioningly, nor did he notice when she opened her mouth again, perhaps to ask him what was wrong. He stopped her by speaking first.

"Everything," Misawa said softly, opening his eyes to look at her with a slight frown tugging at his mouth. Asuka seemed taken aback by his honesty. He continued in low tones, his vision never straying from her face. "I remember _everything_, Asuka, because I _wasn't_ brainwashed and I was _never_ a mindless cultist. I followed Saiou because he told me that that there would be a place for me at his side, and at the time it was what I _wanted_. I joined the Society _and_ the Order for my own selfish, childish reasons, and I take full responsibility for my actions."

Asuka's mouth moved silently, as though her mind were racing for something to say. Misawa glanced back to his cup, swirling the contents thoughtfully as he went on, adding:

"I've never denied my awareness. I left because I realized that he was wrong, and I didn't need the Light to feel worthwhile. What's _your_ excuse, Asuka?"

"I. . .I. . ." she faltered for one critical moment under that somber, logical tone before squaring her shoulders resolutely. Misawa thought that the action would have been more meaningful if she could stop trembling. Her voice was too quiet when she spoke next, tiny and almost powerless. "You don't understand anything outside of classrooms and textbooks, do you, Misawa-kun? I. . .I thought that _you_, of all people, would hear me out first, would wait to hear the facts, but I was guess I was wrong. I'm sorry I wasted your time asking you to come here."

". . .That's it? That's why you called me out here?" Misawa asked incredulously, rising slowly to his feet and settling his palms down on the table as he leaned forward. He could feel his anger boiling up from deep inside, fed by neglect and disbelief, and realized that there was the distinct possibility that he was overreacting. "What, did you want to reminisce about it? Talk about the 'good old days' when Manjoume-kun gave religious speeches and we all pretended to care about God and Saiou's plans for the future?"

"Don't say things like that," something crossed her face, some cold anger that was quickly hidden as she turned her head away to look out the café window. "I don't. . .I don't ever want to hear his name again. I'll never forgive him for what he did to us."

"Who do you mean? Do you mean Saiou?"

"No. No, I don't."

Misawa opened his mouth to say something, but shut it quickly when he realized that he had no response for that. He sat back down and finished his coffee in silence, thinking over the implications of her last comment.

* * *

"This. . .this could be a very serious problem," the art and literature teacher, Kabayama, noted unhappily. He pushed aside the document he had been eying for some time now, the long list of names leaving his careful hands like a burden being shed. The math teacher seated beside him at the table picked it up next, grimacing slightly as she glanced over it. While Sameshima had not been expecting either of them to be thrilled about receiving the new dorm roster for Ra Yellow, he certainly was not prepared for these gloomy expressions. He steadied Kabayama with a curious and concerned look, at which point the mild-mannered man elaborated on the matter. "There are a lot of new freshman that tested into my dorm, but Yellow is crowded enough as it is, even with the recent graduates!"

"Well, _technically_ there's room in Blue—" Miss Emi began, but was rather rudely interrupted by her fellow dorm head.

"_Ravioli dolci!_" Professor Chronos coughed slightly, as though momentarily embarrassed by his outburst, before regaining his composure and waving off the suggestion like an offensive smell in the air. "Ahem. What Miss Emi means to say is that while we would be more than happy to help, _monseignur_, there's really no room in our dorm for any of _your_ students. Very unfortunate, but you understand that Obelisk Blue is meant to be for the elite, the top, _la crème de la crème_! Only the best and brightest students should be placed there, and no one is moving up without significantly improved scores.—" he paused for a moment at a glare from some of the other teachers, and quickly grumbled an additive "—Or, at the very least, better rounded ones."

"Just what are you trying to say, Professor?" Kabayama asked, his voice racked with dismay. Professor Chronos only shrugged.

"I'm afraid that the academic students in Yellow are just out of luck this year. Perhaps there's room in Red?"

"Oh, anything but that!" Miss Fujiwara, the current head of the Osiris Red dorms, cried out. Her eyes were welling up with unspent tears at the mere insinuation of moving more students into Osiris Red. She had been growing gradually more emotional as the year went on; the other staff members were starting to wonder just how much the stress of her position was getting to her. Miss Fujiwara clasped her hands in front of her, pleading. "Please, don't drop anyone else into Red who didn't test there! With Yuki Juudai's duel grade, and Manjoume Jun's test scores, no one from my dorm can move up, either! Everyone is stuck behind those two!"

Fubuki placed a hand on her shoulder, perhaps trying to offer the poor woman some comfort. She shrugged it off and slammed her hand down on the table, her imploring attitude soon replaced by anger. Sameshima shook his head, knowing what was coming next. Of course Miss Fujiwara was stressed and overworked; originally, she was only supposed to have been in charge of the drama department and the Red girls' dorm. However, after Daitokuji's mysterious disappearance at the end of last year, Sameshima had personally requested that she act as the adviser for the boys' dorm as well. It was supposed to have been temporary; he had been supposed to find Daitokuji's replacement over that last summer. But things never seemed to work out the way they were supposed to, and he did not have the heart to tell her it was starting to look like she would be stuck with Daitokuji's job for yet another year.

"It certainly doesn't help that I have to take care of two packed dorms, and that certain boys from Yellow keep usurping valuable room space, too!" Here, she glared at Kabayama, as if his inability to rein in his own students were the cause of all her troubles. "If this keeps up, there are going to be a record number of seniors in Red who won't be graduating this upcoming year, either because they can't move up or they won't. That's a much more serious problem than just Ra Yellow being a little overcrowded!"

"Have any of you thought about the possibility of rebuilding the Fourth Dorm?" the question came out slowly, quietly offered up amidst the heated tension of the staff meeting from the newest member of the faculty. The dorm heads paused, looking over to Fubuki with mixed expressions. But the young man only shrugged helplessly, and continued with an innocent smile. "I mean, it was after all originally built to combat overcrowding and an unfair grading curve. If we move the top echelon of Blue—the students who are setting the curve too steeply—then there will be more room for students from Yellow to move up, which will make room for the new freshman and some of the seniors from Red."

The other teachers and professors squirmed uncomfortably in their seats at this suggestion, some murmuring about how the situation was not _quite _that bad yet, and that perhaps they should hold off on such a rash decision. That nagging, instinctual voice of Sameshima's was back, crying out in his mind that _this _was why Fubuki had been so content to stay on the island. He pushed it back down with a shake of his head. Now was not the time for panic; it had only been a harmless little proposition, after all. Fubuki was simply trying to think of the best way to solve the Academy's state of affairs. He trusted that Fubuki was genuinely worried about this, and, despite his uneasy feelings, did not have any ulterior motives whatsoever.

No, really, he did.

"Well, it would be nice if it was that easy, Tenjoin-kun, but it wouldn't really help the Osiris problem—" Miss Fujiwara moved to offer a meek form of protest, but was not allowed to finish that sentence.

"And then there's the _fiadone_ problem of appointing a new Dorm Adviser," Professor Chronos butted in, leaning his chair back on its hind legs nonchalantly. "It's not as though any of _us_ can take on the job; I, for one, am far too busy to be—"

"I think I have a solution to both problems, Professor," Fubuki remarked with a sudden grin, watching as Chronos nearly toppled over at the unexpected interruption. The older man flailed for a moment, attempting to keep his balance, before thin hands slammed down on the table and the front legs found the floor again. He glared at the young new teacher as if _daring_ the little upstart to explain, which Fubuki did happily. "In addition to moving the top students from Blue there, we can move Manjoume to the new dorm, and Juudai-kunup to Yellow, where he and his scores belong. Also, I would be more than happy to act as the new dorm head! In fact"—_Told you so_, the little voice seemed to sneer at Sameshima from the corner of his mind—"I think that I may be the only one qualified to do so."

"Just what kind of an operation do you think we're running here, young man?" Napoleon exclaimed indignantly, his double chin wobbling with rage as he shook a pudgy finger at Fubuki menacingly. "Your little _coup d'état_ won't get far, not while _I'm_ around, _ma baie pourrie_."

"No no, I think you're misunderstanding me here. . ." Fubuki's grin faltered and he raised his hands in a show of submissive surrender, rushing to his own defense. "It's just that, I think that I'm the only one who knows what to look for. Aren't you all worried about the Fourth Dorm's history repeating itself? I love people, don't get me wrong, but even I would be nervous about a new teacher coming to the island and taking on the job."

There were several nods of agreement from around the long table, as each staff member present conceded that it _had_ to be a current teacher or professor.

"As much as I'd love to take on the role, I'm afraid I'll have to decline," the history teacher, Professor Satou, commented dryly. A wry glance from Napoleon was shot his way, and he drummed his fingers on the table's glossy surface. "On medical grounds, of course."

"_Je crois pas cette bêtises-ci_. . ." Napoleon grumbled, before raising his voice to put forth an alternative. "In that case, if there is no one else, I will take on the task!"

"Ah, no, I'm afraid that you won't," Sameshima finally spoke up, trying to soften the inescapable blow to Napoleon's pride by using a gentle tone as he reminded the portly man. "As head of the Morality Committee and acting Vice-Principal, your contract strictly forbids the holding of any other title or office on campus. As for deciding who would be in charge of a new dorm, _in the event that one were to be built over the summer_, that's not something we really have any power over. That kind of a decision is in the hands of the board of directors."

"Principal Sameshima, you don't actually mean that you're going to bring this up to them, do you?" Miss Emi seemed shocked when she asked, placing a well-manicured hand over her mouth as she finished the question. Sameshima did not like where this was going. He knew that he would _have_ to bring this up to the board members and the founder of the Morality Committee at the next meeting, if only because they needed to know of anything Fubuki showed interest in and chose to champion. He could just imagine their reactions. They would be strongly against the idea of giving Fubuki that kind of power and influence, would question why the young man was seeking it. The founder of the Morality Committee would vehemently oppose the rebuilding of the Fourth Dorm. The man always had, and there was certainly no reason for his opinion on the matter to change now. Sameshima himself was not particularly fond of the idea of having another dorm on campus again, but at least he could assure himself that Fubuki would do whatever was necessary to ensure the well-being of the students under his care. Fubuki was a good boy, after all, if a little suspicious. But Sameshima only sighed, and stood from his seat.

"That will be all for this meeting. I'll present the proposition to the board of directors, and if they decide that another dorm will answer the overcrowding problem, then it will be built. We'll deal with coming up with tentative rosters and naming a new dorm head _if_ and _when_ it becomes necessary. Everyone, please have a safe and pleasant vacation, enjoy some peace and quiet while you can, and try not to worry too much about the current situation. It's out of our hands now."


	6. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer/Note: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!: GX, or any of the characters here, unless otherwise mentioned. I do not own Kazuki Takahashi, and no money is being made off of this piece of fiction. This story was written solely for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, do not sue. All original ideas are original (**_**duh**_**) and belong to me, unless otherwise mentioned. I would like to share credit for much of this story with my friend and beta, The Mad Poet, who sloughed through the outline and rough drafts. Also, for coming up with many ideas and helping me to flesh out the story (and for playing Marco Polo until the wee hours of the morning). This story takes place at the end of second season, and may contain: violence, language, mind games, biblical references, cultural and religious jokes/criticism, some crude humor, psychological trauma/mental instabilities, romance, and possibly sex or sexual references. If you lack the maturity to handle all that, then please leave now. For everyone else, enjoy.**

**Saving You Saves Me**

"_The pain in your heart, you can let it all out to me. I've always been saved by that smile of yours. So go ahead and cry for now, because I'll be here as long as you need_." – 'Teardrop,' BOWL

**Chapter Five**

Ed leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on grimy knees and pressing tightly clasped hands to his chapped lips as he stared pointedly at the dirty wall in front of him. The whole room was like that: filthy and grey, drab concrete walls with old words carved in deep to match the scratched and vandalized floors. It seemed like every room here was like that, had these same words in the same walls beside the same bunk beds. The whole building was like that, the whole city, the whole country; the whole _God damned world _was like that, and it _was not fair._ Everywhere he turned he saw the same disgusting, leering eyes traveling up his body, catching on his hips when he walked down the halls and leaving him feeling somehow violated. The other inhabitants of this awful place all had the same viciously grinning mouths, and so he had decided that it was better to keep his head down and back to the door and just not see them anymore. He had only been back for a matter of hours, and already he could feel himself growing steadily more insane.

He did not know how much longer he could stand being trapped in here, in this room, this cage, this cell. _This _was not his fate. _This_ was not the future he and Saiou had seen outlined in the Tarot and had dreamed up from bloody pasts. It was not supposed to be like this. He was supposed to have changed things, was supposed to have freed Saiou from the chains that kept him bound to the Wheel and should have been bringing down the fiery wrath of retribution on the heads of all the world's villains. But then things had gone horribly, _horribly_ astray, and someone had dragged sinners and God into all this mess with the Devil; some Fool or Hanged Man had gone and ruined everything, brought all their carefully constructed lies and half-truths crumbling down around them like the Tower's stones.

_Damn it!_ It was not fair. How had this happened, anyway? How in The World had he managed to land himself in this situation?

He snorted softly at those thoughts, dropping his gaze from the wall to the floor. What stupid questions. . . Of course, he knew the real reason he was there, and just how it was that it had happened. Ed had landed in this rotten Hellhole because he had been in all the wrong places at all the wrong times and there were big-mouthed witnesses to prove it. He scowled, the grip on his hands tightening. He was here because someone needed to take the blame, and who better to cast in that role than "D-Hero: Denigration Guy" himself? Oh yes, Ed knew _exactly_ why he was here, and he was _not at all_ happy about it.

_They can't prove anything, Edo, and I'll never tell anyone what happened_.

The oath given by calm brown eyes and an adult's somber whisper came back to him, mocking both their stubborn silences. It was a promise followed by tainted hands touching his face, smearing still-warm blood across his cheeks. Or had the blood already been there? Had it come off on the hands, or come from them? Ed did not know. He had lost consciousness after claiming that he would gladly act as a sacrifice—after begging Juudai to please save Saiou from this fate—and he remembered nothing of the events below the White Dorm once his friend's soul had been forced back into its own body by the awesome power of the Lord of Light.

He certainly did not remember Saiou dying.

Juudai had carried him above ground, he knew this for certain. They had both been covered in the psychic's blood; it streaked Ed's white suit with red and came up in bright splotches on Juudai's stonewashed jeans. The Academy's hero had been oddly quiet, reserved and brooding for what must have been the first time in the teen's life. And then those words, as if spoken by someone else. . .someone older, more mature and apathetic. Someone who had seen people die and was no longer fazed by the brutal loss of life. Ed knew that tone well: he had spoken to Juudai like that once, in the shadows cast by Skyscraper when he explained that being a hero meant bringing all the bad men to justice at any cost.

And while it was hard to imagine Juudai as the kind of boy who grew up to be a masked vigilante, Ed had strong convictions that for all the idiocy that that particular boy had displayed over their brief association, _he_ was the one who had been used—masterfully played in the hands of yet another skilled musician—in the end.

Which came back to the fact that Ed was here and Juudai was off at home, no doubt acting the part of the Fool and cheating Fate, as usual.

Tomorrow would be the second day of his trial, and until then he was stuck in this dirty prison with no one waiting on the outside. That knowledge left him feeling small and alone, bitter and angry and terrified at the man he had let himself become. The truth about his father's death, in the form of D.D.'s shocking confession, hurt him deeply; he had loved and trusted the former champion, and to be betrayed by the man who had stood as a pillar of paternal guidance for so much of his life was more than he thought he could bear. Just thinking back to it made him want to scream, want to cry, want to just admit to everything he had never done and beg the prosecution for sweet release from this nightmare.

Well, _almost_. Ed still had too much pride to take the easy way out, and he refused to slip quietly into the darkness when he had lived for so long in the center of every spotlight. Besides, it would take years to get to the end of that long road; he would be halfway through his life before ever seeing the doors leading to that dreaded chair, or gas chamber, or whatever it was that they did out here. Hell, Ed did not even know if they enforced the death penalty in international waters; they certainly did not do that sort of barbarous thing in Europe.

But even if Ed managed to squeeze his way out of these false charges, it was not as if there was anything to escape to. The initial scandal had been huge when the information that he had been the lead suspect in a double murder was leaked to the press, probably by the same dueling officials who revoked his professional certification. It had only gotten worse when the tabloids got their sleazy fingers on the details. _He killed his manager_ and _his foster father_? The horror at the mere suggestion that he could be capable of such atrocities had tarnished his once good name and dragged his reputation and public appeal through the mud. By tomorrow, the world would know that he was the _only_ suspect involved in the investigation of D.D.'s death, and that the other possible killer in Saiou's had been excused on the grounds that there "was no motive" and the boy had a rock-solid character defense.

Ed wondered what it must be like to have someone vouch for the goodness of one's nature, to have someone stand up and say that he had to be innocent simply because of the kind of person he was. But no one had said anything about Ed's "character" except that he seemed to have a volatile temper, and the witnesses remembered him being bodily removed from the White Dorm's premises the night before so as to keep him from "doing something he might regret." They also remembered him screaming furiously at his manager, breaking through a window to get inside, and an instance much earlier when he was seen standing over a dead body in front of the school. The final statement had led to yet another investigation, this one involving deaths in cities he was staying in just before or after each one of his professional duels. While the results had not come up today, they would certainly be mentioned at the beginning of tomorrow's trial. Ed could not help but grimace, knowing all too well what the police would find. There was no way that they could not find the body trail he had left behind while traveling, even if those "victims" had all been thugs and criminals, he was fairly certain that it did not matter. Murder was murder in the eyes of the Interpol, after all.

He had gone from being a rising star, a genius and the next big name for the world leagues, to being known as a fifteen year old serial killer who was being tried as an adult in an international court. And all of it was possible because he had taken on the guise of a professional duelist. . . Ed knew for a fact that Kaiba Seto was feeling the heat for this one: this was _exactly_ the reason that the certification process had been implemented. The idea was to _keep out_ freaks and murderers, conmen and gangsters.

"Bloody _Hell_. . ." the U.K.'s former champion muttered the curse, unclasping his hands to rub wearily at his eyes. It did not help Ed's case that he had been the last person spotted on D.D.'s boat before it burst into flames with the world champion on board on the very same night, nor that soon the whole world would know of his impressive track record with this sort of thing. "This is _worse _than a nightmare."

_I'll never tell_. . .

What was it that Juudai had seen down there, had _done_ down there? There had to be more to this story, some dark and hidden truth that Juudai was trying to protect. The prosecution claimed that Ed had lost his temper and done the terrible deed in a fit of rage, but that was just ridiculous; Saiou was—and had been for quite some time—the only person other than D.D. that he trusted completely, the only one he had believed could help him avenge his father. Saiou had been—and would always be—his best friend, even after Saiou had come clean about his selfish manipulations. Ed would not have killed Saiou. Ed _could not_ have killed Saiou down there that night, because he had been _unconscious_ for the whole damn thing. But no one else seemed to care about that little detail, and it was labeled as a cheap fabrication to protect himself. Juudai refused to testify at all, and neither supported nor denied either side. What everyone did remember, of course, was that no one else had gone down there until the two of them had come back up. Ed had confirmed this part of the story in his written account of that night: he distinctly remembered Juudai's big friend—the one who thought he was a dinosaur, what was his name?—going down beneath the White Dorm and retrieving the body. He remembered hearing the boy's trembling voice begging them please not to look. _You don't want to see this. Just close your eyes and look away_.

Ed had never been good at following orders that came from anyone other than Saiou. He had looked anyway. He had pushed Juudai aside and stared, horrified at the gory mess cradled like broken glass in the bigger boy's muscular arms. All four of them were covered in red, smeared and streaked and staining their bright costumes. He could still smell it, heavy as ozone before the storm and sickly sweet as decay. The odor clung to the back of his throat and he could taste it even now; the memories rose up with bile into his mouth, burning his esophagus.

No. Ed could not have killed Saiou, which meant that there was only one possible conclusion to be reached, even if Juudai did not seem capable of being that kind of hero or monster. He smiled despite himself, the expression a humorless muscle spasm of the lips, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and wishing he could wash away the taste of vomit.

They were all being played for fools.

* * *

The end of the week came faster than even Manjoume could have hoped for.

This was not to say, of course, that he had not been looking forward to and _praying for_ this week's end. After all, even he could only stand Juudai's ridiculous antics for so long. Normally, it would have been fine. But even when it was just the two of them, they had never been truly _alone _before, especially not for days on end with no respite. _Normally, _Manjoume was sure that he could have handled it, and for awhile, it had been all right. But after the third day, with no sign or sound from the spirits that usually followed them both and little to refocus their attention on, Manjoume was more than ready to go home, now thoroughly convinced that this was far worse than any conceived torture.

Juudai had been acting far from "normal," even by Duel Academy's sketchy standards. The boy had hung around him like an ill-fitting shadow, invading any semblance of privacy or personal space that Manjoume could find in the tiny apartment. Maybe it had something to do with the unexplained disappearance of the monster spirits, but it seemed like Juudai could not stand to be alone for more than a few minutes at a time, and the insistent badgering left Manjoume feeling frustrated and drained. Their days were spent running around downtown Rintama and avoiding fist fights with the local thugs, climbing down into half-collapsed basements and daring each other into going first into burned out warehouses on the outskirts of the district. And Juudai, normally the laziest person Manjoume knew, rarely slept over the course of the week, regardless of how late they stayed out exploring; he was constantly harassing Manjoume at night, poking and prodding at the younger boy and asking him if—_hey, hey, Manjoume_!—he was still awake.

And that did not even _count_ the bizarre and uncomfortable dialog that kept creeping up between them over the course of the week after the God incident at the bottom of the elevator. He had never before realized just how many religious references were made in everyday speech, and when he let one slip again, it was met with dark glares and the occasional snarling act of violence. But then it would be covered up again just as quickly as the change had arrived, and he would find "Gotcha" fingers just in front of his nose, would hear the hero laughing and see that idiot grin taking up its rightful place on Juudai's face. The back of his head still ached from where he had banged it open in the elevator, and no matter how many sheepish apologies he received, he could not shake this anxious feeling. He felt as if he was walking on egg shells every time he opened his mouth, and each twitch from the school's hero left him feeling terrified that he had made some vital mistake.

Juudai's mother had spent most of her time working, coming in and out of the apartment after long and irregular intervals. While she was home, she begged them for quiet and rested, sometimes asking her son in a small murmur if he had eaten anything today before falling into a troubled sleep. Juudai always just smiled, and said that neither boy was hungry yet, and that he would make dinner tonight. This left them fending for themselves most nights. It did not help that neither knew much about cooking, and as a result they had been living off stove-top noodles and instant rice, doctored leftovers that Juudai swore would not cause cancer, and the occasional cheap popsicle run. He was starting to feel the effects of their unhealthy diet, leaving his stomach queasy and aching for real sustenance. How was it possible to have survived so long on so little? If this was normal for Juudai, then it was no surprise that the boy thought their meals in Osiris Red were well-balanced luxuries.

All in all, Manjoume was _very_ glad to see Monday morning arrive; he just wished that he could have woken up for it _in his own time_.

"You're an idiot," he snapped angrily at his companion for what must have been the seven hundredth time since they had left Duel Academy. Juudai simply beamed at the insult, leaning over the edge of the couch and into the younger boy's face. Another scowl, and Manjoume threw his pillow over his face and rolled over onto his side, facing away from the other. He was still tired from yesterday, wiry muscles still sore from their last big escapade. Why could Juudai not be as lazy at home as he was school? Just one more hour would have made everything fine. . . "I'm going back to sleep."

"But today's your last day!" Juudai held until the final vowel of that sentence, stretched it out into an annoying whine that quickly grated on Manjoume's fragile nerves. Manjoume felt a finger prodding into his shoulder, but only growled and tried to ignore the desire to lash out at his insistent host. "Y'know, we need to. . .to make the most of it! Have fun, and eat shrimp, and go fishing in a dam somewhere!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Isn't that how it goes? Carps in the dam, needing to be fished. . .?"

"The term is '_carpe diem_,' and it means 'seize the day,' you half-wit," Manjoume turned back long enough to swat at Juudai's head with the pillow and give him a foul glare before lying back down with the item clutched over his ears. "Now shut up."

"Okay, so you don't like fish," Juudai did not seem fazed as he hopped up to a standing position on one of the couch's cushions, gesturing excitedly with vague motions. His own pillow and blanket fell to the floor on top of his house guest. "What about _exploring_? Like, hardcore abandoned building spelunking? There's an old factory across town, kinda close to the harbor, that they're gonna tear down over the summer, and we should totally go check it out before you gotta leave."

Manjoume groaned, but grinned beneath the pillow's cover all the same. Since their excursion in the elevator, they had both come to realize that there was something inherently thrilling about sneaking into dangerous places with little to no protective equipment, _especially _if that place could fall apart at any moment. He had done some limited cave-diving while tromping through the ice flats and scaling the glaciers around North Academy in his freshman year, but somehow it never been quite as fun. Maybe it had to do with the temperature. He wondered, briefly, if it had to do with the company he was keeping, but quickly decided that that was ridiculous nonsense and he needed more sleep and less food-poisoning.

". . .Please, Thunder-san?"

Ah, there it was: the pleading tone that was always paired with imploring eyes and a slight pout, if only he bothered to check. Juudai only ever called him 'Thunder' and remembered the honorific when he was sucking up for something. Manjoume peered out from under the pillow, careful to hide his amusement under a disapproving look. "Let's get one thing straight, Juudai: we're still not friends."

"Wahoo! You're the best ever, Manjoume!"

"—_San da_," he quickly corrected, ignoring the inevitable 'whatever' that followed. "And you'd better not forget that you owe me Tenjoin-kun's number."

"Right right right," Juudai waved the reminder off absently, jumping down off the couch to the living room floor, earning him another swat as Manjoume pointed down at the floor. Old lady? Recovering? No loud noises? Juudai shrugged, stepping around the coffee table to his bag from school, which he still had not yet unpacked. Quickly, he unzipped it, rifling through for something. Clothes were flung haphazardly as he dug deeper; Manjoume pulled his blanket up over his head to protect himself from a pair of pants that went flying by. Finally, Juudai let out another whoop of victory, prompting Manjoume to peer out from his conspicuous hiding place. The boy had his cell phone held up in one hand. "You want it now?"

"Yes!" Manjoume bolted upright, scrambling to reach his own phone. He chose to ignore Juudai's snickering. As he was leaning in to get the number, though, a thought occurred to him, and he steadied his host with a dirty glare. "Actually, I want you to call her first."

"Huh? Why?"

"Just in case."

Juudai's grin fell to a wry smile, and he gave Manjoume a sarcastic little laugh. Apparently, the suggestion that Juudai had been lying about having Asuka's number was not at all funny. Not that it really mattered: Manjoume was being serious and he did not mean it to be amusing. He raised a brow at the other boy, waiting for him to continue. With a roll of dark eyes, Juudai dialed the number, setting his phone on "speaker" so that they could both hear. It rang several times before a bright and charming voice answered:

"Hi, you've reached Tenjoin Asuka. I'm sorry that I can't get to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a brief message, I'll be sure to get back to you as soon as I can."

Manjoume's breath hitched in his throat quietly, and he stared, attention fixating on the phone. He had not heard her voice in so long. . .even if it was just a generic message on her answering machine, it was beautiful and heavenly. She had the voice of an angel, and sounded so much happier here than anytime he could remember back on the island. Juudai gave him an odd look, but Manjoume did not care. Just one more moment of this, please. . . Asuka's tone suddenly took on an icy property for her next comment:

"But if this is Mitsuo-kun, please stop leaving me messages, because I'm never returning your calls anyway."

Juudai erupted in laughter as Manjoume's head jerked up and he looked to the boy questioningly:

"Who's Mitsuo?" he asked, worried. Was Asuka being stalked? Did Fubuki know about this? Should Manjoume be offering to use his impressive deductive reasoning skills and unmatched detective prowess to find the little bastard and potentially have this fiend killed? Juudai just waved it off absently with the silent insinuation that he would explain it in a moment as his phone beeped, reminding them that they needed to leave a message and now was as good a time as any.

"Hey, Asuka, this is Juudai!" he managed to get out before he had to cut himself off with another fit of laughter. "Great message, by the way; tell me if it works, okay? Anyway, I just wanted to call and. . .uh. . .find out when you're leaving for school, and stuff. Call me back, okay? See ya."

He hung up.

". . .Is Mitsuo one of her. . .her. . .?" Manjoume trailed off with a vague gesture, obviously not wanting to finish that question. Juudai tossed him the phone then, shrugging.

"Her what? One of the many guys she's beaten in a duel? Well, yeah, duh. He's this cool gambler guy who showed up to duel her for her key, and stuff," Juudai seemed thoughtful, thinking back to that day and scratching idly at the side of his neck, just below his left ear. "It was a really awesome duel, but when I mentioned it, everyone just started looking at me funny. I totally felt like I was out of the loop and missing something, y'know?"

"_You_? Missing something?" Manjoume scoffed, shaking his head as he copied Asuka's number into his own phone. "That's almost as unlikely as you getting abducted by aliens!"

"I know! Totally, right?"

Manjoume just sighed.


	7. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer/Note: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!: GX, or any of the characters here, unless otherwise mentioned. I do not own Kazuki Takahashi, and no money is being made off of this piece of fiction. This story was written solely for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, do not sue. All original ideas are original (**_**duh**_**) and belong to me, unless otherwise mentioned. I would like to share credit for much of this story with my friend and beta, The Mad Poet, who sloughed through the outline and rough drafts. Also, for coming up with many ideas and helping me to flesh out the story (and for playing Marco Polo until the wee hours of the morning). This story takes place at the end of second season, and may contain: violence, language, mind games, biblical references, cultural and religious jokes/criticism, some crude humor, psychological trauma/mental instabilities, romance, and possibly sex or sexual references. If you lack the maturity to handle all that, then please leave now. For everyone else, enjoy.**

**Saving You Saves Me**

"_The pain in your heart, you can let it all out to me. I've always been saved by that smile of yours. So go ahead and cry for now, because I'll be here as long as you need_." – 'Teardrop,' BOWL

**Chapter Six**

It was the first day of the new school year, and they were already skipping classes. Except that that was not _quite _true, Shou conceded somewhat reluctantly. Technically, classes did not start until Monday. Today was just opening ceremonies, so there were no classes to skip. But if there _had_ been classes to skip, he was certain that he would still be here, killing time at the student store with his friends instead of sitting through lectures like he was supposed to. How they had managed to make it to their senior year was far beyond his understanding.

"So, how was your summer, Tome-san? It must've been awfully quiet back home without us to visit you all the time," Juudai remarked idly, pulling the plastic off his popsicle and depositing it in the trash near the store counter. Shou sighed heavily, passing one of the red popsicles to Kenzan and quietly thanking Tome for all three of them. Because Juudai rarely thanked anyone for anything unrelated to card games. Kenzan had surprisingly good manners, and was usually very good about saying thanks, but Shou did not like it when his underclassman beat him to things like that.

"Oh, thank you for asking, Juudai-kun!" Tome was beaming at him, showering the three with her grandmotherly kindness. Shou liked to think of her as his school grandma while he was away from home; when he had been a freshman, he could always count on Tome to let him hide out in the back room until the many school bullies that picked on him went away. At the thought of his initial hazing, Shou had to repress a shudder. It was a good thing that he had made so many good friends so fast. The time that he had not spent with Juudai was usually spent being crammed into gym lockers. "But I stay on the island over the summer. The warm weather is good for you, you know! Besides, someone has to take care of the chickens and such."

"Really?" this time it was Kenzan speaking, sucking on his popsicle thoughtfully for a moment before elaborating. "I mean, it's great here, but don't you ever get tired of Duel Academy-saurus? Do the teachers stay, too?"

"Hmn? Oh, no, of course not," Tome explained with a small laugh. "The teachers and professors usually get to go home after the first week of vacation for you starts, and about half the staff leaves, too. Then it's just me, the custodians, and the Morality Committee boys. But lately, Bucky-chan has been coming to see me almost everyday, so I haven't been lonely at all!"

"Bucky-_chan_. . .?" Juudai made a face at the false 'idol name' that Asuka's older brother had adopted early last year, and Tome swatted at him playfully from across the counter. She blushed a little, cupping her face in her hands and closing her eyes for a moment before adding in a conspiratorial whisper:

"I think the boy has a crush on me. He's probably unsure how to approach a former school idol like myself. . ."

At that point, Tome dissolved into giggles. Shou grimaced, remembering the annual duel between Duel Academy and North, where she appeared in a red dress, and then the school festival incident with the Black Magician Girl costume. . .the memory of the latter event still left his skin feeling cold and clammy, with his insides churning like a little piece of his soul had died. Kenzan just looked confused, head tilted up as if trying to figure out whether or not it was possible for a guy like Fubuki to be interested in older women at all.

"Well, what about you guys? How was your summer?" Juudai turned to ask his 'younger brothers' now that it was obvious that Tome was too busy. . .being a fangirl. Kenzan grinned widely, gesturing to himself as he was about to start boasting about the amazingly fantastic summer he had, when he was interrupted by Shou's worries:

"Can't we get back to the opening ceremonies, aniki? Please? I mean, this is our senior year!" the smaller boy lamented, looking back towards the entrance to the school store. "We need to focus! We need to work hard, and really devote our time to school and studying, or we're not going to graduate. Do you know what happens if we don't graduate? Do you know what it _means_, aniki? It means that we're _failures_ in _life_, and we're the miserable, pitiful, bottom-of-the-barrel leftovers that will never amount to _anything ever_, and we'll be always be looked down on and stepped on and—"

"Shou, calm down. It's not that big a deal. Besides, you're in a Blue jacket right now; I don't think you need to be freaking out about not graduating."

Shou pouted slightly. It was true that he was in Obelisk Blue now, and had the clean-pressed upperclassman jacket to prove it, but he could not shake the feeling that it would not last for long. He was not the genius his brother was, was not a consistently good player like all his friends. The duel he had with the Hell Kaiser—that stranger who wore his brother's face—had secured a belief in his abilities _when it really mattered_, when lives and souls and ideals and everything that made a person who they _really were_ were on the line. But what about little things like duel exams and high school rankings? Things like that seemed so pointless when held up in comparison. Shou was fairly certain that he would crumble beneath that meaningless pressure at the first opportunity, just like he always had in the past.

"I wouldn't mind if you guys repeated a year-don," Kenzan added, putting a reassuring hand on Shou's tiny shoulder. "I think it would be great if we could all graduate together!"

Shou shot his underclassman a scathing look, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose with one finger. He wished he could have thought up some witty remark to go with the look, but that was when he noticed the two young men wearing green berets and dark sunglasses coming into the store, and he shut his mouth so fast that he accidentally bit himself. Juudai glanced over with a raised brow, as if not understanding what the big deal was. Kenzan also looked confused. Not like they were carrying their weapons at low-ready, or anything. . .

Then again, Juudai probably did not remember the old director, the angry woman who had all but busted down their door at the beginning of their freshman year for sneaking into the Fourth Dorm. And the Morality Committee had been strangely absent for most of their second year, so Kenzan would not have any memories of the green berets. Shou remembered them, though. He remembered being scared to death that he and Juudai would be expelled, and then realizing that he needed to start worrying about _getting shot_, instead.

They were spotted immediately, one of the green berets coming over with his rifle slung over one shoulder, muzzle pointed down at the floor. The other was looking into the bread bin used for the Lucky Draw.

"Opening Ceremony isn't over yet. You should be in the Arena, not here."

Juudai just made another face, putting the tip of his popsicle back in his mouth and turning to lean on the counter. Shou shrank back to hide behind Kenzan as the weapon moved from the Committee man's shoulder to his hands, and the muzzle was suddenly jammed into Juudai's ribcage. The school's hero made a faint sound of pain, allowing the young man behind him to turn him towards the door. Tome's hand came up to her face, covering her mouth in shock.

The other Committee member walked up to the counter with a mystery bread in each hand, perhaps debating whether or not he wanted this one, or the one he had passed over in the bin. Maybe he did not trust his draw skills. Shou thought it was surreal to see anyone in those dark green uniforms acting so normal, as if thinking of the members of the Morality Committee as human beings who ate lunch bread was just too weird even for Duel Academy. The impossibly surreal feeling was helped by the fact that the other green beret had just pointed a loaded weapon at Juudai for skipping one little assembly. Since when had Duel Academy gotten so strict?

"Actually, I was just thinking now would be a _great _time to get back to the ceremony. Don't you think so, Kenzan, Shou?" If Juudai had been nervous, he hid it expertly behind a beaming smile and an easy laugh, sticking the rest of his popsicle into his mouth with front teeth clamping down on the stick. He slid the icy dessert off the wood, dropping it in the trash as he turned for the door. Kenzan followed suit, but Shou just discarded his whole popsicle, mumbling a quiet apology to Tome as they filed out of the school store. Behind them, he could hear the sound of coins sliding across the counter, the other green beret offering the elderly woman a small, "thanks, ma'am," before quick-stepping to catch up and guard the rear of their little procession.

* * *

Sameshima was just ending his speech when the three of them made it back to the Duel Arena, and handing off the microphone to vice-principal Napoleon, who had some "very important" announcements regarding new disciplinary policy. The green berets left them at the top of the stairs; Shou had watched as they slung their rifles back over their shoulders, muzzles always pointed down at the floor, and began debating who got which mystery lunch bread as they headed back out into the hallway. He was still fairly shaken up, but the sight of their retreating backs did a lot to calm his fidgety nerves. At least now he did not have to worry about what kind of letter they would send back to his mother after shooting him. With Juudai in the lead, they headed down the steps to find empty seats in the Osiris Red section. Of course, they were not surprised to find that the only empty seats were next to Manjoume.

"Took you morons long enough," the boy grumbled, scowling darkly as Juudai sat down beside him with a grin. "Kenzan, Shou. . .why are you sitting here? Neither of you are stuck in Red."

"_Aniki _is here," Kenzan replied as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Where else would they be, after all? _Duh_. Manjoume rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the light prodding to his right shoulder. Steadying Juudai with a glare, he silently dared him to say something.

"We went on a popsicle run. You should've been there: it was totally more important than this."

". . .You're an idiot. Shut up."

"You _guys_," Shou whined the second word, holding the vowel sound out until they turned their collective attention to him. "We're seniors? Upperclassmen? Supposed to be setting an example for the innocent new freshman so that they don't follow our path of misery and anguish and go through all the same hardships and defeats and _failures_ and one day wake up ten years from now alone in a _ditch_ somewhere and—!"

"Calm down, Shou-saurus. It's gonna be okay."

"I am not a dinosaur!"

"Wha—? Wings?" Juudai leaned forward in his seat, staring down at the duel field. Shou blinked at the strange outburst, letting his eyes follow the other's line of vision. He saw Napoleon quivering and trying to hide behind the podium that had been set up down there as someone walked towards him. Shou did not recognize the new man, a monstrously tall blond in black fatigues and a sweeping dark green jacket, nor had he heard any introduction for him. The _jacket _was familiar, though; the female head of the Morality Committee their freshman year had worn one like it. He watched as the new arrival stopped next to Napoleon, perhaps saying something that the main microphone did not pick up, before the little French man scurried off the stage as fast as his fat little legs would carry him. The large man stepped behind the podium, placing something—cues for a speech?—on its surface. "Is this guy for real?"

"White wings. . ." he heard Manjoume murmur thoughtfully, the boy's brows furrowed deeply. Shou glanced over to him, and then back down at the man on the field. Wings? He did not see any, but then again, Manjoume and Juudai were always seeing things that he and Kenzan could not see. What did it mean, though? Did it mean that the man had a spirit following him? Or had Manjoume's craziness finally infected his aniki?

"In light of the events of the past two years," the big man's voice boomed over the speakers, colored with the familiar heavy, slightly nasal accent they knew so well from listening to Napoleon rant. He was obviously fluent in the language, even though he said his vowels all wrong and was difficult to understand. His sentence structure and grammar were excellent; Shou wondered when the man had learned Japanese. The boys leaned forward further in their seats, straining to make out the message through the man's French accent. "I will be taking over the command of the Academy's Morality Committee and disciplinary board. I am the Head Director and founder of that organization, and I have been sent here by Kaiba Seto _personally_ to maintain order this year. With this in mind, be aware that the Academy will be undergoing certain changes to policy."

Manjoume shot Juudai a worried look, which was met by a simple shrug. Shou brought a hand up to his mouth, biting down on one knuckle. This was not good. . .why did it have to happen during their senior year?

"For those that are not aware of this fact, there has always been a curfew on this island. After lights out, you are not permitted to leave your dorms. This curfew is still present and will now be strictly enforced. If any student is caught breaking curfew for anything other than a legitimate emergency, that student will be suspended for a week and will be kept in a newly designated in-school suspension hall. A second offense will lead to permanent expulsion."

"_What_? That's ridiculous!" Juudai exclaimed, so shocked and indignant that he rose from his seat with the yell. He was not alone; half of Osiris Red and a good portion of Yellow and Blue were also on their feet. Shou was shocked at the number of standing students; were these all the curfew breakers and their friends? Or were they just indignant over the ridiculously harsh consequences of something that had become a kind of rite of passage for new students? The director of the Morality Committee was looking down at the notes he had laid out on the podium, and did not seem to notice. He went on regardless.

"All students are required to live in the dorms that they have been assigned. Any changes will only be made after explaining the reasons to your resident Dorm Adviser and by submitting the proper forms to the head of Dorm Life. Any students found to be staying in dorm rooms not assigned to them will be expelled. This is your only warning."

"Who does this jerk think he is?" Kenzan growled, also rising to his feet. Shou dropped his gaze to the floor. They were going to get expelled and shot by the green berets, he knew it. "He can't do that!"

"All students are required to wear the school uniform issued to them, and when worn, that uniform must meet certain _dress code regulations_.—" here, the man paused to look over at a section of Obelisk blue seniors, all of whom were girls "—Any students who choose not to abide by this rule will be suspended for a week and kept in the in-school suspension hall. A second offense will result in expulsion. Finally—"

"I am _not_ giving up my jacket for this prick!" Manjoume's vehement snarl was almost lost in the roar of disapproval from the student body, but the man at the podium did nothing. He seemed to be waiting for the noise to die down, and after several moments, it did.

"Finally, all students and faculty are required to cooperate with the activity and requests of the Morality Committee. This includes attending all classes and school functions. Any student who chooses not to will be expelled, and any faculty member will have his or her contract terminated prematurely."

"Raphael-san this is ludicrous! Surely you're not serious abou—" the microphone picked up Sameshima's pleading tone, letting the students know that at least _someone_ was on their side.

"Attending Duel Academy is a privilege, sir, not a right," the man, finally identified as Raphael, interrupted, speaking into the microphone though he turned his head to address their principal. "Teaching here is no different, and, for your own sake, you had best remember that."

They were _so_ getting shot this year.

Raphael turned to leave just as Shou brought his head back up, eyes narrowed behind thin lenses as he glared at that broad retreating figure. He wished there was something he could do, some way to get rid of this new Committee head. If Ryo had been here. . . The Kaiser could have stepped up to challenge this new foreigner, could have dueled for the old rules as ante and would have had the whole student body supporting him. Ryo could have done it, but he was graduated and lying in a hospital back home. And Shou was not his brother, no matter what color jacket he wore. If Shou challenged Raphael, he was certain he would fail, because no one's life was on the line.

Suddenly, as though some veil or weight had been ripped from his gaze, Shou could see something white that blocked the view of the back of Raphael's jacket. There was something pale and bright there, a colorless flash as that something extended like wings spread to full capacity. Had Juudai said he saw wings? Shou rubbed at his eyes unbelieving, but the moment was gone. There was nothing there except for the dark fabric of his jacket, though a few pale feathers had drifted down from _somewhere_ amidst the clamor to rest on the blue duel field. Maybe Shou was seeing things. Maybe Manjoume's crazy was rubbing off on him, too. Maybe, but he could not shake this terrible, ominous feeling.

Just who the Hell was this Raphael?


	8. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer/Note: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!: GX, or any of the characters here, unless otherwise mentioned. The named Morality Committee members belong to me, by the way. I do not own Kazuki Takahashi, and no money is being made off of this piece of fiction. This story was written solely for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, do not sue. All original ideas are original (**_**duh**_**) and belong to me, unless otherwise mentioned. I would like to share credit for much of this story with my friend and beta, The Mad Poet, who sloughed through the outline and rough drafts. Also, for coming up with many ideas and helping me to flesh out the story (and for playing Marco Polo until the wee hours of the morning). This story takes place at the end of second season, and may contain: violence, language, mind games, biblical references, cultural and religious jokes/criticism, some crude humor, psychological trauma/mental instabilities, romance, and possibly sex or sexual references. If you lack the maturity to handle all that, then please leave now. For everyone else, enjoy.**

**Saving You Saves Me**

"_The pain in your heart, you can let it all out to me. I've always been saved by that smile of yours. So go ahead and cry for now, because I'll be here as long as you need_." – 'Teardrop,' BOWL

**Chapter Seven**

Juudai smiled at the clear blue sky, stretching his arms up as far as he could and pretending that he could grasp it with his hands from this distance. He closed his eyes, fingers curling in and short nails digging into his palms. Maybe if the Academy's main building had been taller, he reasoned, he could have captured it. Perhaps if he climbed up further, if he found a way to scale the dome up here, he could really reach the sky. His smile grew to a grin. He would have to present that idea to Kenzan or Shou or Manjoume when he came down off the roof later.

It was nice up here, though; it was quiet and calm and peaceful, and Juudai always felt very close to the sky here. In a way, he thought that it was odd that only on the main building's roof did he ever wonder how far away the sky really was, or what it would feel like in his hands. Juudai had never been the type of guy who wanted everything, or who dreamt of flying and feeling free in the wind. To be honest, Juudai usually did not like relaxing places like this. Juudai liked loud and active places, fun places with lots of people, or places set up for sleeping through the boring part of life. He liked Rintama and duel fields, big arenas with lots of stadium seats for the audience. Juudai liked bath houses and hot springs and his thinking cliff with the great view. He liked the Osiris Red dorms and he used to like Daitokuji's classroom back in his freshman year, too. And then he liked the roof of the Academy's main hall, because it was big and warm and close to the sky. Also, it was the only place where he could sleep for hours and never be found.

Not being found was a very important detail right now, because he had just met some of this year's new freshmen, and _Rei was back_. Juudai shuddered a little as he remembered his reason for escaping to this quiet hideaway. Saotome Rei had finally managed to transfer over to Duel Academy from North after Manjoume granted her wish at the end of the GenEx tournament last year, even though she was still technically too young to attend a high school. Now she was back, prowling around the Osiris Red Boys' dorm looking for him.

Juudai threw an arm over his eyes, blocking out the view of the sun and sky. He did not like girls like Rei: girls who were pushy and demanding and thought about that obnoxious lovey-dovey crap all the time. Guys who liked girls would be distracted from the things that were really important, mainly friends, card games, and saving the world from burning death. To be honest, he still had not quite forgiven her for brainwashing his poor Featherman and Sparkman during their first duel. He and his cards were heroes, damn it! They were like the Last Samurai, the final and most hardcore hold-out against the destructive wiles of women!

It occurred to Juudai then that being the Last Samurai would mean that he would have to get rid of all the idol cards he kept in his deck. He cursed, grumbling about how _totally not cool_ that was, and wondering why Manjoume and Misawa both had to fall victim to his arch nemesis: the vagina. But that was fine, because Juudai was tough enough to carry the torch of machismo all by himself, without their help.

Mostly, though, Juudai had just come to the conclusion that he could not afford to lose any focus this year on girls, not when he was so easily distracted anyway. He was still having trouble seeing the spirits of his duel monsters, but it had gotten better since arriving back at school; Neos had appeared after the assembly to tell him that everything would be all right, and to remind him that all the Neospacians were here to fight their hardest for him. He was the planet's savior, their intergalactic hero. He had banished the Light, and they had become his army. It was all reassuring, but not enough to convince him to ignore the feeling of being watched or to make him feel safe enough to take off the amulet. No matter what he did, he kept coming back to that fear: was the Light still out there?

Was Saiou still alive?

His hands clenched convulsively at the thought. It should not have been possible, not after what he had seen; certainly not after what he had done. Still, Juudai could not help but wonder if that was the case. Had Saiou somehow survived that beating? Was he in hiding, waiting for Juudai to let his guard down? Was Saiou looking down at those freaky cards of his and laughing at him for having fallen into a trap? Juudai sat up suddenly, arms falling back to support himself as he looked up to the sky again, eyes narrowed against the light.

Against the light. . .against _the Light_. . . He scowled, dragging his gaze back down to the rooftop beneath him. He did not want to think about that kind of thing, did not want to have to set aside his childishness just yet. Juudai wanted to stay a fool, wanted to keep laughing and smiling and giving people "Gotcha" fingers when he won. He wanted to enjoy himself before he had to grow up again.

"_Kuri?_"

Juudai's head jerked towards the source of the sound, his previous worries and fears—the gleam of gold, that harsh edge of adulthood—fading back into the recesses of his mind. He could worry later.

"Aibou!" he laughed the title, a grin quickly spreading across his features as he regarded the spirit fondly. It had been a long time since he had seen Winged Kuriboh, and he had missed the thin, incorporeal vision of his most trusted companion. The creature's hairy body was tilted to the side; watery brown eyes narrowed just a little in the way that let Juudai know that his partner was worried about him. "Have any ideas for getting Rei to give up her part-time job as a stalker?"

"_Kurikuri_. . ." it trailed off absently, white wings fluttering behind it as it floated through the air towards the stairs leading off the roof. Winged Kuriboh paused over the top of the stairs, looking down and making small, confused cooing sounds at what it saw. Juudai pushed himself to his feet, and was about to head over when something poked its head up into view.

Whatever the creature was, it looked furry and surprisingly real, though Juudai was not sure how that was possible. It was not hazy or indistinct the way that Winged Kuriboh was, and so he had to assume that it was not a Duel spirit. The creature was a vivid purple-blue with two sets of comically large ears that fanned out and seemed to be connected by web-like skin. It had large red eyes that shone like masterfully cut gems and a shiny shard of stone pressed into its forehead between them. The peculiar animal rose up over the final step as if to look around the rooftop, but then it seemed to spot Winged Kuriboh and scampered up to give chase. Winged Kuriboh squeaked, and fluttered back towards Juudai.

"Huh, what _is_ that? A squirrel?" Juudai squinted at it, though that did not help him to determine the creature's species any better. Its underbelly was pale blue, its tail long and flexible, more reminiscent of a cat than a squirrel. At the tip of that tail, the fur came up against a round gemstone that should have been much too big and heavy to be supported there. Juudai blinked, and then squinted again as if that might somehow help him to find the answer.

Someone was walking up the steps behind the creature, calling out to it in some foreign language that Juudai did not recognize. The school's hero brought his gaze back to the stairs in time to see that another boy had joined him on the rooftop. He had wild hair and bright green eyes that Juudai noticed even from this distance, a wide smile and sharply western European features. The boy came closer, and the creature, as if sensing his presence, ran back to meet him, running up the length of his black pants and crossing behind his back to rest on his shoulder like some kind of bizarre parrot. Juudai stared, watching uncertainly as the stranger rubbed the animal's head with one hand.

". . .You can see him, too, can't you?" At first, Juudai had thought that the boy was talking to his pet, but when the foreigner looked up and met his steady gaze, Juudai realized that the question had been intended for him. He nodded numbly, and the boy's smile grew. Who was this guy, and what was that creature? It could be touched and pet, and yet it pawed at the air where Winged Kuriboh flitted about anxiously. Juudai took a moment to clear his head, eying the boy again. He noted the duel disk on his free arm, his gaze traveling up the loose lavender sleeve to the blue underclassman vest, and vaguely wondered why no one had bothered to tell the boy that only Obelisk _girls_ wore them.

"Uhm, are you new? I've never seen you in class before. . ." for a second, the boy looked confused, as if he were having trouble understanding the question. It occurred to Juudai then the guy _was_ really foreign, and that his Japanese might be a little rusty. "I mean, this is your first year here, right?"

The boy laughed then, dropping his hand from the creature's head and gesturing absently as he answered:

"Well, when you put it that way, yeah; I'm a new student at this Academy." Juudai raised a brow curiously at the response, but shrugged it off as just another foreigner. . .thing. Sure, he was a little weird, but he looked too young to do much damage. Besides, if he had really been a bad guy, he would have set off Juudai's villain-alarm by now. The creature scurried down from the boy's shoulder then, stopping to sit up on its hind legs on the rooftop. Winged Kuriboh soon joined it, and they leaned into each other, sniffing cautiously.

"Well, I hope you enjoy the new year. It's gonna be quieter than the last two, but still good," he chuckled a little to himself, thinking back to some of the fun times he had had and ignoring the more serious memories. Juudai pointed to his chest as he introduced himself. "I'm Yuki Juudai, but you can just call me _senpai_, okay? If there's anything you need, just talk to me."

"Johan Andersen," the new student replied, offering Juudai his hand. Juudai took the hand in his own for a firm shake. Something passed between them in that moment, something intangible and important that Juudai could not quite name or place. He paused, still holding Johan's hand as he looked down to arms were not moving, the gesture more clasp than shake. Distinctly, he felt the soft texture of Johan's palm, noted the lack of calluses on his fingers as they wrapped around his hand. A strange and wholly unfamiliar emotion swept through him, and although he knew his lips were moving, no sound came forth.

"Y'know, I have a weird feeling about you. . ." Juudai began when he had finally managed to get a hold of his faculties again, but soon trailed off, unsure of how to finish. The feeling, that new emotion, was alien, but not altogether unpleasant: it was similar to recognition, but somehow different. His hands remembered this shake, this touch, even if his mind could not. Johan's grin turned slightly mischievous, as if he was privy to some special secret unbeknown to Juudai.

"Like this isn't the first time we've met?"

"How'd you know?" Before Johan could explain, however, Winged Kuriboh and the red-eyed creature started fighting. Johan and Juudai look down at them in surprise, but did not release each other immediately. After a moment, Johan let go and picked the animal up, frowning as he held it close to his chest and scolded it. "Don't pick on guys weaker than you, Ruby."

Juudai scoffed, clearly offended. "My aibou is anything but weak! He could take on your funny-lookin' squirrel anytime!"

"Ruby is _not_ a squirrel! He's a carbuncle, and he was about to eat your precious little partner for lunch."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, and I'll prove it to you in a Duel!"

"Now you're talkin' my language!"

It was practically second nature as Juudai reached for his duel disk, strapping it on and slapping his deck into the device shortly after Johan did the same. They had taken several steps back, giving each other room for their cards on the rooftop.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for this opportunity," Johan exclaimed as he drew the first card. At a look from Juudai, he elaborated excitedly."I didn't mean to deceive you, Juudai, but I already knew who you were as soon as I saw Winged Kuriboh. The truth is that I transferred here from North Academy just to duel you and see the power of your rumored Neospacian deck for myself! I have to know if it will hold up to my legendary Gem Beasts."

"Gem Beasts?" Juudai was torn between his natural curiosity regarding new cards and the desire to run away and hide from yet _another_ potential stalker. Wasn't this getting a little out of hand? First Rei, and now this Johan. . . Maybe it was a North Academy thing. Come to think of it, even Manjoume had admitted that he had come back for the school's hero early in their second year.

"You've never heard of them?" he looked over his hand as he talked. Juudai had not even so much as glanced at his starting cards yet. "Julius Caesar gathered seven of the most brilliant and powerful jewels from across his empire during the peak of Roman conquest, as proof of Rome's control over the known world. The legend says that he had been planning to use those gems to make a tablet that would grant him contact with the underworld, and the place between shadows. But while those jewels were en route to the capital, the ship they were on ran into a storm, and the stones were lost to the sea. That was where Industrial Illusions found them, and Pegasus himself ground each gem down to powder and mixed it with the paint he used to create the picture on each card.

"Don't worry, it gets better," Johan said it in a rush when he noticed Juudai's attention wandering. He paused for effect, trying to build tension between them and recapture his one-man audience. Juudai thought the whole thing would have gone over better if they were standing on opposite sides of the field in the big duel arena, complete with filled seats and roaring crowd, maybe with some really intense school pride on the line. Johan probably did better in those kinds of spotlight situations, he decided. "He never sold the cards. Instead, he held an enormous, world-wide tournament to determine who would get the core cards to create a deck based around the Gem Beasts. And that's how I got them. I was the tournament champion, and from there, I went to North Academy, where I became the strongest—"

"Yeah, 'cause Manjoume left two years ago," Juudai teased, snickering at the flush of color that stained the pale European's face.

"Two years ago, I didn't even _have_ the Gem Beasts!" Johan snapped, slashing the air in front of him with his free arm vehemently to emphasize his point. "Even if Manjoume was still at North, I have no doubt that I could take him on. Before, I could never fight with all that I had, but now it's like the pieces of my heart have been restored! When I duel with the strength of the Gem Beasts at my back, I can pour everything into each new battle. They are more than just cards, Juudai; they are my friends—no, _my family._ There is nothing like this, this rush of fighting with all that you have and giving each new battle your best!"

"I'm really glad for you; it's awesome that you're so close to your cards, and I know what you mean when you say that they're like family," Juudai had begun with a soft tone and understanding twitch of mouth that did not quite reach his brown eyes. As he went on, though, that tone turned snide and his partial smile fell away entirely. "But could you play the damn card already? I'll see for myself just how awesome your Gem Beasts are, but I think I should warn you that I'm not very good at waiting."

Johan grimaced, shoulders coming up and head dropping at the reprimand. For a brief moment, Juudai wondered if he had been too harsh with the boy, but shook his head absently as if to clear it of such thoughts. It would have been a lie to say that he was not interested in the boy's deck or in the playful secret that he was hiding, but he still did not have the time to be getting distracted. The longer they stood here, the more pressed he felt for answers that he did not have to questions that he could not say aloud. His fanboy would have to wait until the heroes had beaten all the villains if he wanted to make a name for himself here. Johan stuttered over an apology and took his turn.

* * *

"Come on, _Thunder-san_: say it. _I dare you_."

"_I hate you_," he snarled out the words through bared teeth, dark eyes narrowed into an angry glare. Manjoume's hands were clenched into fists on top of the desk, his shoulders trembling with unspent tension. He wanted nothing more than to lash out at his loud-mouthed companion, to wipe away that condescending little smirk and break the other boy's arm to keep him from giving one more goddamn "Gotcha." If that was all it took to keep Juudai from talking about one percent, it would be worth it; perhaps if the boy could not use his quick hands his luck would finally run out. Juudai laughed, head tilting up slightly as he leaned forward on the desk from the opposite side, supporting his weight with both hands and looking down on the younger boy.

"_Liar_," Juudai's tone did not quite match his smile; brutally rough from the unaccustomed drop to his lower register. Manjoume scowled, and looked away sharply. He _had_ meant it. That really _was_ how he felt towards the school's hero, but at the same time Juudai was absolutely right: he really was a liar. Juudai brought one hand up to emphasize his point by leveling two fingers at his subject, sneering. "If you hate me so much, why are you so afraid of winning?"

Manjoume swallowed hard, flinching at the accusation. Yet another half-truth, though he was reluctant to admit to it. Without a holy cause or Christ to follow, the Hanged Man had made a noose of his ineffective pride and hung himself again. He had gone back to that branch, back to letting his talents and potential rot as he hung suspended in indecision. So afraid of failure, of losing everything that he had left, he no longer strove to gain more, to better himself or to step beyond the cramped boundaries of his comfort zone. He had found acceptance outside of himself, and thus refused to move on. He had never dealt well with pressure, and since his meltdown two years ago he had found himself satisfied with second place, with playing the comedic part of sidekick to the laughing Fool.

He hated Juudai for always succeeding, for being the Golden Boy who never did anything wrong. He hated Juudai for never getting caught or giving in. He hated that sly smile that gave away the boy's true nature when he stopped caring about who might notice, hated the way Juudai took advantage of everyone and everything around him. He hated that obnoxious catchphrase and gesture, and the way that people always forgave him for being so insincere and self-absorbed.

But he hated himself more for choosing to look the other way and go along with the whole charade.

"I'm not having this conversation with you."

"And why's that?" There was a faint glimmer of gold on the edge of Manjoume's periphery vision, and he did not need to look up to know that it was reflected in Juudai's gaze. A subtle hissing rose up between them, a sound like hostile snakes whispering over his skin. He tried not to shudder at the imagery, at the sick black feeling that came with it. "Finally tired of losing?"

"_Shut up!_" he was practically screaming the command as he jerked to his feet abruptly, his arm coming up and back as he prepared to knock that stubborn grin off of Juudai's face once and for all. He held his arm there for a moment longer, channeling his ever growing hostility into unspent momentum while he grabbed the older boy by the collar of his jacket before letting his fist fly. But just as the blow was about land Juudai was gone; or rather, the _image_ of Juudai was gone, because the school's hero had never been there in the first place. He was alone in the room. Manjoume fell forward with a startled yelp, only just catching himself before his own momentum carried him over the desk. He stared at the empty space where Juudai should have been, not in surprise at the boy's disappearance, but rather in helpless rage as he realized that he could not fight or suppress his own insecurities.

And, of course, Manjoume just _had_ to be crazy enough to manifest those fears of inadequacy as a vivid hallucination. This was not a new trend, but a familiar—and ultimately frustrating—habit of his.

The door to the room opened then, and the intrusion on his privacy shook Manjoume back to reality. His head snapped up and his eyes widened at the sight of two green berets entering with loaded rifles in hand. It occurred to him that they must have heard him screaming, that now they knew that there was no one and nothing else here but his own insanity. He stiffened, waiting. They stopped a few feet away from the door, one of them tilting dark sunglasses down to look over the rims at him. A gloved hand was raised, motioning for Manjoume to come down from the fifth row of the classroom's tiered seating. Cautiously, Manjoume walked down the steps, watching the two men tuck their sunglasses into the breast pockets of their respective uniform jackets. He halted on the final step with his head raised defiantly. If they were expecting him to be frightened, then they would be sorely disappointed.

The last thing, however, that Manjoume was expecting was for those two Morality Committee members to drop to one knee in front of him and remove the green berets from their bowed heads.

"Forgive us, sir, for our behavior, but we had to be careful and could not risk approaching you before now," the first began, and Manjoume was even more startled to realize that he recognized that young man in a vague way, although he could not place a name to the familiar face. "But it is urgent."

"Both of us were in the Society of Light last year, and because of that, we are under the vigilant watch of our superior officers, just as you are," the other young man explained, looking up with a bright and fervent expression of hero-worship.

"Wait, but I—" Manjoume had been going to defend himself. These men had to be mistaken; there was no reason for him to be under anyone's surveillance, at least not this early in the year. There had not been time to get into trouble yet. He was just about to feed them the same sorry story about brainwashing and memory loss, about being unwilling to go along with those 'crazy cultists in white,' when he was interrupted by the first green beret:

"Please, White Thunder!" he begged him, his voice wrought with desperation. "Tell us that we're not the only ones who remember the glory of God and the mercy that the Light has shown us."

The protests died in his throat, his breathing hitching slightly. They had admitted to remembering the Society of Light. They knew about its original intent and purpose of spreading the word of God through Saiou's vision and ability to communicate with the Holy Light. Manjoume's mouth moved silently for a moment until he managed to compose himself again.

"You are not alone in your faith," he reassured them quickly, glancing to the closed door warily. It occurred to him that this could be some kind of trap, but Manjoume soon dismissed that possibility. He knew that the first young man was telling the truth about having been a member of the Society of Light; Manjoume remembered recruiting him early on, though he had not been in uniform at the time. And while that fact alone guaranteed nothing, the fortunate timing of their meeting had not escaped his notice. He had been struggling with his faith, with his doubt and guilt, and here they were to assure him that he had not damned himself to hanging. Regardless of how or why they had sought him out, this was a perfect opportunity to figure out what had become of the true believers, and was happening now on this island. He squared his shoulders and felt the comforting weight of religious confidence descend upon them, as if his old title were a mantle that they had draped over him. "You don't need to show me that kind of deference; I was merely a messenger of the Prophet. Now then, tell me your names."

The two young men hurried to their feet, and the first placed a hand over his heart as he spoke:

"I am Fuuma Naoki. I was the one hundred-forty-fourth member to be inducted into of the Society of Light by you last year."

"Akihara Genji, one hundred and fifty-second member," he rushed his introduction and began to explain in earnest. "And we came to warn you to be careful. The entire Morality Committee is up in arms because of how powerful the Society had grown to be. There's a huge power shift now that Lord Raphael is personally involved; he's getting rid of all the officers who were in charge last year, and he's ordered us to place anyone who was associated with the Society before you left under surveillance. If he suspects that you have kept your faith in the Light, you will be in great danger."

"Who is this Lord Raphael, anyway?"

"The head and founder of the order," the other hurried to answer Manjoume's question first, reaching up to his neck and pulling a necklace out from where it had been tucked into his shirt to help him elaborate. The necklace consisted of something strange and green, some foreign metal or bizarre stone, on a simple silver chain. Manjoume raised a brow curiously.

"The order?"

"_Das demütig dieners aus der Oberster Oberbefehlshaber von Mennscheit_," Naoki's German was ugly and haltingly spoken, tainted and mispronounced through his Japanese. Still, Manjoume recognized it and was able to translate; he had been required to take a foreign language elective in middle school, and had continued with it into his high school years. It had not occurred to him that he would ever need to use German outside of a classroom or far-off business venture, and it took him a moment longer than he thought strictly necessary to make out the phrase's meaning. _Humble servants of the Supreme Commander of Mankind_. . .? It was certainly a mouthful. As if reading his mind, Naoki continued. "We usually call it _DOOM, _or just _the order_, for short."

"Lord Raphael is a man of God, and a warrior of the Avatar of His Holy Spirit."

"Can you not see his wings, White Thunder?" Naoki questioned rapturously, his gaze faraway as he continued with a wistful smile. "There is an angel that follows Lord Raphael; sometimes, even _I_ can see her trailing behind him, and her beauty is truly amazing."

"A man of faith, you say?" Manjoume paused thoughtfully, considering the implications. This was definitely an unexpected turn of events. Who would have thought that the M-16 toting Morality Committee was a front for yet another Judeo-Christian cult? Then again, his own religious leader had wanted to burn the world clean by means of a giant laser satellite. Obviously, both Doom and the White Order were adamant followers of the Old Testament God. "If that's true, why is he so against the Society of Light?"

"I don't know his exact reasoning. But I do know that the order believes itself to be the one true way as shown to Lord Raphael by the Holy Avatar. We were originally told that the Society was corrupted by evil," Genji was hesitant, toying with his weapon's shoulder strap nervously as he waited for a nod from the student in black, his voice growing quieter as he went on. "And later, we saw for ourselves that even in the White Order, it was becoming more and more corrupt. People joined not to find the Lord God, but for their own aggrandizement; they worshiped themselves and each other. We were not surprised to see it turn in and ultimately destroy itself."

Naoki elbowed him sharply with a glare before turning his attention back to Manjoume. "If it pleases you, White Thunder, Lord Raphael will be giving a speech in the barracks tomorrow night for the members of _DOOM_ stationed here: would you like to hear him speak? I'm sure that between the three of us we could get you a spare uniform, and it might shed more light on your questions than we can."

"The 'three of us?'"

"_Shakku_ is the man guarding the door," Naoki made a vague gesture behind him towards the closed entrance. Manjoume frowned at the unfamiliar name, and the green beret laughed a little. "He wasn't part of the Society, but he's a good man: transferred here from the training camp a few months ago. He's French, like Lord Raphael, but we can't really say his name right. Besides, it's a surprisingly fitting nick—"

The door opened again, and another member of the Morality Committee ducked his head in. Manjoume assumed that this was the man they called 'Shark.'

"Hurry it up. Shift replacement just radioed in, said they're on their way to round up students getting moved to the new dorm."

"Don't worry, White Thunder," both Genji and Naoki bowed low to Manjoume before putting their headgear back on and moving their rifles back down to low-ready. "We'll contact you soon. Until then, try not to catch _DOOM_'s attention."

* * *

It had been a long time since Kenzan had been in the Ra Yellow dorms. Even though he had technically been in Yellow last year, he had spent almost every waking moment with his brother and friends in Osiris Red; he had even slept in over there for most nights. But now that those angry guys in green had showed up, it seemed like that was going to have to change. He had attempted to strong-arm one of them into backing off while moving his stuff into Juudai's old dorm room, but it had not gone quite as planned. The back of his head still hurt from where the green beret had slammed the butt of his rifle into it.

Kenzan had been forced to move his things back into his own room in Ra Yellow, and now, as he had just finished, he found himself wandering aimlessly towards the lobby. Really, the whole situation was just stupid. . . Hell, Kenzan didn't even _know _his new roommate! The boy he was being forced to live with was small and passive, and had whimpered meekly when Kenzan snarled at him to relinquish the top bunk, only to come to the sharp and infuriating realization that there was no top bunk, because Ra Yellow did not believe in bunk beds. He almost hoped that Shou would drop down from Blue, just so that he could move in with a friend; it was unlikely that Juudai was ever moving up.

"Well, this is just getting ridiculous. . ."

"Huh?" Kenzan was shaken from his thoughts by the mumbled statement, and he leaned against the doorframe of the Ra Yellow dorm lounge with large arms crossed over his broad chest. Sitting on the couch, a familiar face looked up at the intrusion with a sheepish grin, catching a finger in the dark green collar of his turtleneck and pulling it away from his skin a little. It took Kenzan a moment to recognize the upperclassman, though. "What's up, Misawa-don?"

"Er. . .I, uhm, I didn't see you there, Kenzan," Misawa's confession caused the younger boy to roll his eyes. He was kind of hard to miss, really. Just how often did giant dreadlocked dinosaurs wander around this campus, anyway? He watched as Misawa tucked his handheld away in the pocket of his jacket. "I was, er. . .checking my email."

"And? What's up?" Kenzan asked again, tugging at one of his sleeves just below the shoulder in annoyance. Though he had been issued new uniforms this year, the company that made them did not seem to take into account the possibility that muscular kids might want to go to a high school for card games; the jacket was a little too tight, and often felt like it was cutting off the circulation to his arms. Ordinarily, this was not a problem for Kenzan, but those damn green berets had felt the urge to remind him that uniform changes were not being allowed this year. He had been forced to relinquish the jackets he had turned into vests. What did they think that he was: some kind of tiny-armed Tyranno?

"Well, I. . .I seem to have gotten really popular over the summer, but I'm not sure why," the older boy admitted, the sound of his confused tone bringing Kenzan back from his brooding again. Misawa put one hand to his chin thoughtfully, the back of the other coming to rest against his elbow as he crossed that arm over his stomach. It was a serious pose, an intellectual stance vaguely reminiscent of The Thinker, but with better posture. "All of the arriving freshmen have recognized me so far, and _three_ girls have asked me out today. It's not even the first day of school! Classes haven't even started yet! This doesn't make any sense to me. . ."

"_You_ have girl problems, senpai?" Kenzan sounded incredulous as he joined the senior on the sofa. He removed his jacket and let it fall over one leg, putting his elbows up over the back of the couch as he tilted his head up to look at the ceiling. "You're right: that is weird."

"Ha ha, very funny," Misawa grumbled dryly, shooting a glare at the other student. Kenzan responded with a toothy grin. They both knew that Misawa had trouble getting anyone to acknowledge or remember him—even his close friends. So the idea that a bunch of _freshmen girls _had taken time out of their busy schedules to talk to him was one of the stranger and more unnatural occurrences that could have occurred on this campus. It was certainly the last thing Kenzan was expecting to hear from the little hermit.

"So. . .were any of the girls cute?" he asked after a moment of silence, nudging the senior roughly. Misawa only shrugged and shook his head.

"They weren't my type," he explained simply.

"You said they were freshmen, right? Were any of them. . ._my_ type?" Kenzan suggested hopefully. This time it was Misawa's turn to roll his eyes. He added a somewhat dramatic—but completely unnecessary—sigh.

"If by 'your type' you mean 'were any of them dressed in ruffles and lace and underage,' the answer is no."

"Hey! I've never dated anyone who was underage!" Kenzan jumped to his feet defensively, fists rising like he was getting ready for a fight. If Misawa even _thought_ of arguing that statement, he fully intended on breaking the guy's nose. Almost as an afterthought, he amended his previous comment. "And my last girlfriend doesn't count because she _told me_ that she was thirteen. How was I supposed to know that was a lie-don?"

"I have no idea why you like girls like that. . ." Misawa just sighed some more and shook his head again, as if he could not believe that he was stuck dealing with such a child. Who did he think he was that he could belittle other people's personal preferences, anyway? Kenzan dropped his fighting stance rather abruptly when a mortifying thought occurred to him.

". . .You. . . you like older women, don't you, senpai?"

"Yes, I do." Misawa crossed his arms over his chest, picking up Kenzan's discarded defensive behavior. "My preference is strong, capable, independent older women. Especially redheads."

Kenzan threw his arms up in exasperation, coupling the action with a scowl and frustrated exclamation. Go figure. . .it was no wonder that the guy was a total loser. "Japanese culture is wasted on men like you."

"Just because you want to date prepubescent little girls does not mean that all Japanese men have a Lolita complex, nor should they!"

"There's nothing wrong with liking cute, petite women-don!"

"Except that you don't like _women_, Kenzan. You like _little girls_, and in most countries, that's _illegal_," Misawa pointed out, a victorious smirk playing on his mouth when he finished. Kenzan stuttered for a moment, fumbling for some kind of comeback. What the hell does a man _say_ to that kind of accusation? _Why, yes, sir, and that's why I'm glad I'm from a country where the age of consent is so low._ Somehow, Kenzan did not think that would help his cause. So instead he opted for a less condemning, and ultimately less clever, retort:

"Oh yeah? Well, _aniki_ says there's nothing wrong with my taste in women-don!"

Misawa snorted, perhaps irritated that Kenzan had not simply conceded the win. "Oh, please. That hardly counts."

"Watch it," Kenzan growled, hunching his shoulders and lowering his head as he ground out the end of his threat through bared teeth. It was at moments like these that he thought he could feel the dinosaur DNA flare up through his system, and he imagined that his narrowed eyes had snapped reptilian in that instance. "Insult my aniki, and I'll rip your spleen out and _eat it_."

"You know," Misawa began cautiously, scooting away from the younger boy slowly. "I doubt that nice girls like Alice go for violent dinosaurs."

Even Kenzan thought that that was a low blow, like rubbing acid into a festering wound. Misawa knew that Alice was still a tender subject for him. Never mind that the younger boy had only known the girl for a day before she disappeared just as mysteriously as she had come, or that she had given him the worst case of food poisoning he had ever experienced. None of that had mattered, because Alice was pretty and wonderful and nice, and now Misawa had gone and brought her up again. Kenzan faltered, shoulders slumping suddenly and head dropping as he looked to the floor with a tiny sniffle. He felt his eyes watering up, and could not hold in his feelings any longer.

"Uwaaaaaaah! I miss her so much!" he wailed, throwing an arm up over his face and burying his eyes in the crook of his elbow. Misawa must have anticipated that the other student would burst into tears—it was not the first time Kenzan had "gotten in touch with his sensitive side" in front of him—because he moved back to the younger boy's side, placing a hand on his shoulder in a slightly awkward show of masculine camaraderie. "Alice-chan! W-why did she ha-have to. . .t-to _leave_ me?"

"There, there, Kenzan," Misawa patted the large muscle on Kenzan's shoulder reassuringly. "All the best girls turn out to be possessed dolls." –a small thoughtful pause from both boys, Kenzan sniffling again and looking to Misawa expectantly while the older boy sighed, his own eyes beginning to water. He added wistfully—"Or giant white tigers."

"Re-re-_really_?"

It was Misawa's turn to start bawling, and Kenzan hugged him as he lamented his own misfortune with women. "Tanyachi!" he sobbed the affectionate pet name brokenly, clutching at the front of Kenzan's shirt as he cried. "_Why _couldn't I just accept her as a warrior? Why did she have to _leave_?"

"Picking up girls at Duel Academy-saurus _sucks_," Kenzan lamented passionately as he wiped at his still streaming eyes. Misawa sniffled appreciatively in agreement, but any further comments he may have had were pushed aside as a trembling whirl of blue and white interrupted them:

"Bad news, guys! It's awful, terrible, very very bad news! The worst! I can't even believe it and I wouldn't, but I _saw _it when I moved in and the room assignments were up on the posts and everything, and the Morality Committee was standing outside with _guns _and glaring at people, and kids were moving in with boxes of stuff, and Fubuki was there, it was just _terrible_ and—!" Shou halted in his gasping warning, momentarily taking note of the state of the two Ra Yellow students and pushing his glasses up higher on his nose with one finger as he caught his breath. It was very likely that he had run over from Obelisk Blue; his face was flushed with exertion and his shoulders would not stop heaving. He blinked in surprise, his reason for panicking seemingly lost as he quipped: "Oh, hey, Misawa-kun. I didn't know you were still _going_ here."

Kenzan tightened his grip on the older boy, who looked distinctly like he was harboring the intention of smacking their small friend upside the head.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer/Note: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!: GX, or any of the characters here, unless otherwise mentioned. I do not own Kazuki Takahashi, and no money is being made off of this piece of fiction. This story was written solely for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, do not sue. All original ideas are original (**_**duh**_**) and belong to me, unless otherwise mentioned. I would like to share credit for much of this story with my friend and beta, The Mad Poet, who sloughed through the outline and rough drafts. Also, for coming up with many ideas and helping me to flesh out the story (and for playing Marco Polo until the wee hours of the morning). This story takes place at the end of second season, and may contain: violence, language, mind games, biblical references, cultural and religious jokes/criticism, some crude humor, psychological trauma/mental instabilities, romance, and possibly sex or sexual references. If you lack the maturity to handle all that, then please leave now. For everyone else, enjoy.**

**Saving You Saves Me**

"_The pain in your heart, you can let it all out to me. I've always been saved by that smile of yours. So go ahead and cry for now, because I'll be here as long as you need_." – 'Teardrop,' BOWL

**Chapter Eight**

"So. . .what's the big, life-threatening crisis here, Shou?" Kenzan asked, brows furrowed in confusion as he surveyed the scene in front of them. "Because I just see a bunch of guys moving into their dorm rooms."

It was true: that was all that was going on, and it did not seem ominous or spooky in the least. There were a few students going in through the single entrance with boxes, one of them pushing a cart with a T.V. on it. Kenzan wondered why the kid had even bothered. All the dorm lounges—with the unsurprising exception of Osiris Red—came with a T.V., and judging from the fact that he and Misawa were the only two boys _not _wearing blue at the moment, Kenzan imagined that this dorm would do the same.

"They rebuilt the old _Fourth Dorm_, Kenzan," Shou put a heavy emphasis on the building's name, as if it should mean something special to his underclassman. Kenzan crossed his big arms over his chest and tilted his head to one side. A fourth dorm? That didn't make a whole lot of sense. . .Didn't Duel Academy only have three so that they could all be named after the God Cards? Shou glared up at the student in yellow as though he had read his mind. "You don't know anything, do you?"

"Hey!"

"A bunch of students disappeared from here the last time this dorm was operational," Misawa supplied the explanation readily, hands on his hips as he looked at the new fence surrounding the building. His gaze traveled up past the walkway to the windows along the building's front. "It's built in the same style as the dorm before it. Same spot, too. . . Do you think they found Amnael's lab or any of the basement passageways?"

"Augh!" Shou jumped with a yelp, flailing helplessly as he turned. "When did _you_ get here, Misawa-kun?"

"I. . .I've been here the whole time, Shou," the other senior reminded him miserably. He sighed and gave Kenzan a helpless look, which received a shrug in response. Kenzan, in an attempt to keep the conversation away from Shou's inability to remember Misawa, quickly changed the subject back to the "crisis" on hand.

"Well, how come you were freaking out about it, Shou-saurus?"

"Because it's a big deal!" the tiny upperclassman snapped at them in a huff before pushing his glasses further up his nose. "What if kids start disappearing again?"

"Students go missing every year," Misawa pointed out, lowering his voice when he noticed the green berets standing guard by the corner of the building. "And it's not always because of crazy alchemic experiments."

"Yeah, sometimes it's because of _cultists_."

"What about bears? I saw one in the boys' bathhouse with aniki last year."

"Hello? We're on an island with an _active volcano_, and the forest isn't exactly the most intimidating barrier separating the school from it. . ."

"Y'know, now that I think about it, how is Duel Academy-saurus still open? I mean, a boy got stomped to death at my junior high one year, and our principal got sacked and school was canceled for two whole days," Kenzan stated very matter of factly. Shou and Misawa stared at him in utter dismay, whatever sense of severity the moment had clung to now completely lost within the tangent.

"Sometimes I forget that you're from the bad part of Rintama. . ."

"Misawa, you say that like Rintama has _any_ good parts."

Kenzan was about to reply when a tall young man wrapped a black clad arm around his neck in a familiar and friendly manner.

"I didn't see any of your names on my roster. Are you here to check on Manjoume-kun?"

"Fubuki!" they gasped the young man's name practically in unison. Shou put a hand over his heart in a show of melodramatic surprise. Of course, it was not that shocking: Fubuki had a knack for randomly popping up without any sort of explanation. It seemed like they were always asking him why or how he had snuck up on them undetected. Shou really did not need to ask what was going on—especially since he had been the one to warn the others of the young man's presence here—but he did anyway. Maybe he was doing it on principle.

"Do you know why they rebuilt the dorm? What are you doing here, and what do you mean about Manjoume?"

"Why, I'm supervising my dorm, of course!" Fubuki released Kenzan with a laugh and grinned at the younger boys. They stared him, slack-jawed in disbelief, before finally managing to reply with an astonishingly articulate:

"_Huh?_"

"Didn't you go to the assembly this morning? I'm the new Dorm Head."

"_What?_" Shou shrieked, his hands going to his face in horror. Misawa took a step back. Kenzan just scratched his head in confusion. This didn't make a lot of sense either. Surely Fubuki wasn't old enough to be a faculty member; after all, Sameshima and Chronos were ancient! Kenzan was fairly certain that a person had to be at least fifty to teach on the island, or something. Professor Satou and that nurse-lady didn't count, though. He looked over the young man suspiciously.

"I thought that you just finished retaking your senior year-don."

"No, I was completing the term as a student-teacher," Fubuki corrected cheerfully, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his black pants. "And now I'm in charge of the Fourth Dorm and I'm teaching chemistry."

"_You're_ a teacher?" Shou looked faint. Kenzan put a steadying hand on his tiny shoulder.

"That's right, and you two," Fubuki pointed at Shou and Kenzan. "Have to take my class this semester in order to graduate on time. But don't worry: we'll have _tons_ of fun! It'll be _wonderful_! We'll get to see each other everyday, because you'll be making up three entire years of chemistry in the course of a semester, and we'll get to bond over _great_ experiments and watch things _explode_ and catch on _fire_, and—" The boys groaned at the return of Fubuki's customary enthusiasm, which was rewarded by a laugh from the young man in black. He wagged a finger at his students playfully, his mouth turned down in a comical frown that left his eyes still dancing. "—Now, now, show some respect! Chemistry is a very important subject, you know. Why, I'm sure it'll come in handy at some point this year!"

"Tenjoin-san, we need you inside," it was said softly from behind their new teacher, and they turned to finally notice the two Morality Committee members that were flanking him. Fubuki nodded and tried to wave them off idly with one hand. The green berets raised their weapons ever so slightly. There was the briefest hesitation, as if Fubuki was only just now realizing the threat of force, before he smiled broadly to his students and gave them a thumbs up.

"Looks like I'm needed elsewhere. The duties of a popular idol and star such as myself never seem to end! But it's fun being busy: reminds me of a stage production just before opening night. . .Good luck, boys. I'll see you in class," and he winked, blew a kiss—which was rather unsettling, Kenzan thought—and spun on his heel to cheerfully bound off with the two green berets at his side. The Committee members seemed infinitely less enthused about the whole ordeal than their charge, but that was only to be expected. It would have been difficult for anyone to be as excited as Fubuki, regardless of the reason.

Misawa stared after the retreating figures as they entered the new dorm. From the back, the jacket looked a lot like a derivative of the blue senior uniform, done in black with a dark trim. There was a quiet lull between them as they watched the door fall shut behind their new teacher and his escort. Misawa broke it first, his comment aimed at no one in particular: "I wonder why they decided on black for the Fourth Dorm uniforms. . ."

"Well, I know that _I've_ had enough white to last me _at least_ the rest of my life," Kenzan commented dryly, stretching his arms up above his head and turning to leave. "But I guess there's no real crisis after all. Might as well check out the Ra cafeteria—"

"Are you _serious_?" Shou flailed for a moment before bringing his small hands up to clutch at his head, short fingers digging into his hair. "Didn't you hear a word he said? He's a teacher, and they rebuilt the _Dorm of Doom_ where _tons_ of students disappeared _forever_ and were never seen or heard from again, and now new students are being used to fill the rooms and act as _evil cultist fodder _and Fubuki's _in charge of it all_. Don't you get it? Everyone's gonna die and the bodies are never gonna be found because there are no bodies left because they did weird things to them and melted them down and—!"

"Shou-don, please breathe."

"—And I'm not a _goddamn dinosaur_, Kenzan!" the tiny upperclassman screeched, whirling on the bigger boy with raised fists. Misawa just sighed and rolled his eyes. This was going to be a very long year.

* * *

Her pictures had all been framed or pinned up to use as decorations, her jewelry untangled and hung from necklace trees and earring organizers. All her shoes had been put away on their shelves in her closet; her skirts and shirts and the two pairs of jeans that she owned were all folded neatly in their drawers. The desk had been tidied, her bed had been made. Asuka crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the one thing that did not belong here. _It_ stood out and could not be systematically arranged amongst the knickknacks and trinkets found in a normal girl's college dorm room.

It was two in the morning, and she had already broken down and taken out all her cardboard moving boxes, so now _it_ sat on her closed laptop, eyeless sockets blankly facing her. Mitsuo's coin had been tucked away in her music box along with the red scarf. Only Titan's hideous mask remained to be placed, though she did not remember packing it. Slowly, cautiously like she was taking a rabid animal in hand, Asuka lifted the mask and held it up for inspection.

The inside of the mask, the cold metal that would have been pressed against her skin if only she would put it on, was razor-sharp with vicious edges promising to cut deep into any face that dared to wear it. She flinched when her finger slipped over one of those ridges and blood seeped out onto the metal. Asuka placed the mask a few inches in front of her face, holding it delicately by the edges as she turned to the mirror above her dresser as if to idly consider her reflection. She wondered what she would look like if she wore it.

There were a lot of masks in Asuka's life lately. Cold masks, smiling masks, compassionate masks; masks with teeth and biting words when she tried to visit an old friend. She had seen herself in different masks, playing out contradictory roles as she cried over coffee or sneered at false sympathy. What would it be like to wear this mask? Would this mask hide her away from the world, save her from her troubles? Was there really power hidden deep within it, or was it all in the wearer?

_Wizened old hands turned over the first card, cloudy eyes scanning the picture and something less tangible. Asuka fidgeted where she sat across from the small gypsy woman. She was anxious, curious, afraid to know what they would see in the Tarot. The old woman spoke slowly, explaining each card's meaning and position. The Wheel of Fortune was at the apex of the reading. It was in reverse, representing a struggle with fate and a refusal to accept the current status quo. Uncertainty. Asuka was at the mercy of the Wheel._

Her hands brought the mask closer, trying to peer through the slits to gauge any change. She did not feel any different with it there like that, did not seem stronger or more distant and apathetic in the mirror. From the neck down, all she could see was Asuka: a relatively normal freshman girl with a weird high school history. It was two in the morning, and she was wearing the pale blue pajamas with the little girly ruffles and frills that her mother had bought her. It seemed odd that her thoughts would drift back to the fortune teller and the strange reading she had gotten before leaving for college. Those words had haunted her, had followed her out of Domino and back into Tokyo, then across the continents and time zones as she left Japan. It made her ache for Malachi, for the reassuring words of John and Isaiah, for the familiar sermons she knew she would never hear again.

_The next card in the spread was the Nine of Swords, upright. The Devil had damned her to a wander through a nightmare, desperate and alone. She had lost something of grave importance. There was no way out of this Hell._

Asuka ran her thumbs downward along the spikes that would press against her cheeks like fangs, if only she would let them. In the mirror, she could not see herself. There was only the silver mask, stylized golden eye affixed to the metal just between the eye holes. When Titan had worn it, his eyes had been covered by a glossy white material, though no such material existed on or inside the mask itself. She had always wondered where that had gone when the shadows had swarmed over him, devouring both body and soul.

_The King of Swords described the Fool who would spring her from the nightmare garden. It symbolized the power to make objective decisions; it was intelligence and eloquence. But the Fool itself had turned up in reverse. He was stupid, immature, and he lacked a sense of responsibility. His spontaneous intrusion had cast her out from the garden and into yet another prison._

Her eyes were bright in the mask's reflection, glossy and empty like the strange metal it was made from. That tiny glimpse of herself was all she had within the confines of Titan's mask. It was as if she would disappear entirely without that window out, that gateway in through dark eyes. She shifted her grip so that she held it close to her with one hand, leaning forward and placing the other on the slick surface of the glass. The cut on her hand left a smudge of red instead of a fingerprint.

_The Five of Pentacles was next, followed by the Eight of Swords. They heralded a crisis, fear, deprivation and insecurity. Her feelings would be repressed, her ability to move restricted. She was caged, held captive. Her prison would control her voice and silence her mind—_

A white film descended over the previously empty eye sockets of the mask, and Asuka was momentarily blinded. It was then that she realized how close the metal was to her face. She could feel the blades on her skin, and only the barest fraction of added pressure would cause them to break through. With a start, she half turned and flung the mask from her, trembling as she watched it hit the wall and bounce harmlessly to the floor. It stared up at her, the white film gone just as suddenly as it had appeared.

—_behind a mask._

Her breath came to her in ragged gasps, her heart pounding loudly in her ears and throat. What had gotten into her? Asuka brought her hands up to touch her face in a panic, quickly checking for injuries. She had another small cut high on her cheekbone, just below her left eye, and she winced when her clumsy fingers grazed over it. Her legs felt weak, her insides cold. She lowered herself to a sitting position on the floor as she tried to compose herself and gather her thoughts.

What the Hell had come over her? Why had she done that? Asuka inhaled deeply through her nose, held it for a second, then exhaled slowly, and repeated. She needed to calm down. Her eyes darted over to the where the mask lay, innocuous, untarnished. Clean and—dare she even think it?—innocent. Asuka pressed a clammy hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. _Dear God_. . . she must be going crazy, or paranoid, or something. There was nothing there, nothing to be afraid of, and certainly no reason for this overwhelming feeling of panic to have taken up residence in her chest. This wasn't Duel Academy; things like _that_—things that could not be explained without gods or demons or strange monsters that would come for her out of shadows—did not happen here. She was back in the real world. She was _safe_ from all that now.

Asuka's cell phone rang.

* * *

It was waiting.

Perhaps it would have been more frightening and diabolical if it had been waiting just after midnight, in a night that was neither bright nor dark but stuck in that halfway point of dim illumination from a nondescript sky and quarter moon. No, it would have been better if it was a _full _moon, it decided, because everyone knew that those always heralded something evil and malicious. It would have melted in and out of the shadows, would have crawled through the night to its target on the other side of the island. But it was _not_ just after midnight, the sky was _not_ dark, and there was no moon at all. It was three in the afternoon, with a sun that had just completed its ascent. Not spooky at all.

Still, it waited.

A thin trail of smoke curled up from the volcano to mix with a few low-hanging clouds that circled its summit. The forest hummed with life at the edge of the clearing just before the ruins on the western side of the island. Small rodents scurried into burrows at the sound of wing beats. A bird cawed from deeper into the wilderness, and its call was answered by the rustling movement of the treetops. The forest paid no special attention to the creature crouched low in the underbrush. It hunched up powerfully muscled shoulders, belly brushing the ground with each shallow inhalation. Moving during the day would give away its position; it was not camouflaged, and its naturally pale coloration would surely attract unwanted curiosity.

It hated waiting. Waiting was boring and tedious and not at all interesting. Fools and cowards had to wait. Warriors who could not use intelligent strategy and tactics had to wait. It was none of those things, and so it should not have had to wait, it reasoned. A low growl escaped it, rumbled up from deep within its broad chest and ground out between clenched teeth. It knew that its target could not escape the island, but there was so much daylight left. . .

The creature longed for days past, for bright mornings when the length of shadows had no bearing on its travel. But it was tired from the long journey here, from the tense waiting as it watched the passage of the sun. It needed to hide out until darkness had descended, until the light was all but snuffed out and the only source of illumination came from the cloud-coated moon or perhaps the eerie red glow of the volcano's fire. That would be nice, it thought. When the world burned and they all bled out, it would be well worth the wait.

And so it stayed where it was, bright eyes raised to the sky.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer/Note: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!: GX, or any of the characters here, unless otherwise mentioned (Genji and Naoki both belong to me). I do not own Kazuki Takahashi, and no money is being made off of this piece of fiction. This story was written solely for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, do not sue. All original ideas are original (**_**duh**_**) and belong to me, unless otherwise mentioned. I would like to share credit for much of this story with my friend and beta, The Mad Poet, who sloughed through the outline and rough drafts. Also, for coming up with many ideas and helping me to flesh out the story (and for playing Marco Polo until the wee hours of the morning). This story takes place at the end of second season, and may contain: violence, language, mind games, biblical references, cultural and religious jokes/criticism, some crude humor, psychological trauma/mental instabilities, romance, and possibly sex or sexual references. If you lack the maturity to handle all that, then please leave now. For everyone else, enjoy.  
**

**Saving You Saves Me**

"_The pain in your heart, you can let it all out to me. I've always been saved by that smile of yours. So go ahead and cry for now, because I'll be here as long as you need_." – 'Teardrop,' BOWL

**Chapter Nine**

Manjoume closed the back door leading out of the Fourth Dorm's main lobby with a tired sigh. He could not _wait _for this day to be over already. After Genji and Naoki had left, he had returned to Osiris Red only to find more members of the Morality Committee waiting for him outside his room. They forced him to hastily repack and escorted him here, to the Fourth Dorm, where he had been assigned a room on the second floor just at the top of the stairs. As if that was not bad enough, they had also threatened him with expulsion if he refused to wear his new uniform.

Looking down at the clean black coat, Manjoume had to admit that it could have been worse. At least this uniform would hide his soy sauce stains. Still, he missed his North Academy jacket; it was currently hanging up in his new room, in all its smelly, grimy glory.

Another sigh escaped him, and Manjoume shoved his hands deep into his pockets and walked farther away from the building towards the line of trees that marked the end of the main campus and the beginning of the island's wilderness. He had not heard from Juudai or any of the others since the assembly had gotten out; he wondered if they had also been forced to move out of their usual dorms. He was tempted to send the school's hero a message about his planned infiltration of Doom's headquarters tomorrow night, but did not. It would take a lot of monosyllabic words and perhaps a few colorful charts and graphs to fill Juudai in on what was going on with Duel Academy's token cultists.

His fingers brushed against a slip of paper in the bottom of one pocket, though for the life of him he could not remember putting anything in there today. It was a new jacket, after all. Manjoume pulled the piece of paper out into the light to inspect it critically; written on it was a set of simple numbers, divided into sets of two, three or four by dashes. But he knew immediately what it was:

That was Asuka's new phone number, the one he had gone through hell and a whole week of Juudai to get. And he still had not called her.

He did not know what he had been planning on saying to her, but he wanted to call her anyway, if only to hear her voice again. Maybe he would get the answering machine, and then he would not even have to open his mouth and embarrass himself like he always did. He really hoped he would get the answering machine.

Manjoume's hands were shaking as he reached into his other pocket and picked up his black cell phone. It was also new, and had just recently come into his possession after his last one had been accidentally crushed while packing up for the new school year. He still had her number held tightly in his opposite hand, carefully putting in each digit out of fear that he would misdial. Taking a deep breath, he silently prayed that he had copied the right country code down and that he had not inadvertently called while she was sleeping. Manjoume brought the small device to his ear and waited for her answering machine to pick up.

"Hello?" her voice was bright and, thankfully, wide awake. His own seemed to crawl down deeper into his throat and tie itself into a knot. She had sounded a little confused in that single, adorably accented English word. Of course, his number was new too, so she must not have recognized it, Manjoume reasoned. He wondered if she would have answered had she known it was him. At the long silence, she tried again, this time with a touch of annoyance. "Hello?"

"A-ah. . .T-T-T-Tenjoin-kun!" he finally managed to stammer out her name, and he cursed his clumsy heart when he realized just how foolish he must have sounded. But he pressed on anyway, hanging onto that thin hope that she might actually still want to speak to him. Occasionally. Sometimes. _Maybe_. "H-Hi. Uhm, th-this is—"

"I know who this is." Manjoume flinched at the icy tone, at the completely frigid and monotone nature of it. He had not heard her speak like that since she had been in the Society of Light last year, and it had not been quite this cold since she had blocked out all sounds but that of Saiou's voice. He remembered the dead look in her eyes and the soulless way that she had moved, like a pretty puppet on the White Order's strings. After her duel with Juudai, though, she had seemed all right; she had gone back to smiling and having pride in being the top girl in Obelisk. She had spoken to him like another human being instead of some putrid stain, and had even teased him a little before leaving the island last year. He wondered what had happened to her in the weeks that had passed since then, but could not find the courage to ask her directly.

"Ten-Tenjoin-kun—" he began, but Asuka soon interrupted.

"Why are you calling me, White Thunder?" she did not say it mockingly, but with all seriousness, as if that was really his only name. Manjoume swallowed hard, and let her continue. "Did you think I had forgotten everything that happened, the way that you did? Did you think that maybe it didn't matter because a few months had passed? You cannot wash away your sins so easily."

"Th-That's not it at all. . ." his words were as helpless and aimlessly directed as he felt right now, but Manjoume did not know what else to say, or even if there was anything else _to_ say. When Asuka was the White Sun of the Order, she was protected by an impregnable shield of ice that surrounded an even colder heart. Manjoume's gaze dropped to the ground, and he shuffled his feet uncertainly.

"Did you call because you thought that you could stop me?"

Manjoume's head jerked up at this, and his narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. What was she talking about? What would he need to stop her from doing? The question hung in the air between them for almost a full minute before he finally found a response to it:

"What?"

"I've already told you," she was calm, certain, and unshakable in her beliefs as she answered. He thought he could detect a hint of that underlying smugness and elitism that she had so often carried with her. Manjoume longed to reach out to her, to let the warmth of his feelings melt away that cold heart to the bright and vibrant Asuka the White Order had hidden away. "I will become His temple on Earth forever. Only _I _am pure and untouched by darkness, and so only _I _am fit to be the final and true vessel of the Divine Light."

"All people cast shadows, Tenjoin-kun," he replied tersely, eyes narrowing darkly. He was scared, in a way, of this strange and blind fanaticism. Manjoume had never fought with another member of the Society of Light—let alone the White Order—and certainly not over anything that he had, at one point, believed. That lump was back in his throat, but this time it was not made of his voice but of tightly knotted doubt and fear. He prayed that she had not bought into the New-Age, transcendentalist wave that had swept through their ranks just prior to his crisis of faith and self. "No one lives without darkness."

"I am a monument to the White Sun, and there is no place in my heart that the Light cannot reach. When Saiou-sama returns—"

"He didn't go for a _walk_, Tenjoin-kun, _he is dead_!" Manjoume shouted the last three words into the phone, his free hand clenching into a fist. It hurt to finally admit that his prophet was not coming back. Yes, he had often likened Saiou to Christ, and had even wondered if he would rise again after Juudai had confessed his misgivings, but this was all wrong. This did not feel like faith. It felt too obsessive, too self-important to really be about saviors and God. Like everything else connected to the Society of Light around and after the time of Manjoume's departure, this had nothing to do with the organization's original purpose. This was not about Saiou, not about the Divine Light or saving people from darkness; it was not even about burning the world clean. This was about Asuka, and her need to feel special, perfect, and elite. This was about the fear that they had all been very, very wrong to follow Saiou last year. "And nothing anyone does or says can _ever_ change that! No amount of prayer is going to bring Saiou back, and your faith in a _dead man_—!"

"You left us!" she screamed back at him, and Manjoume almost swallowed his tongue when he realized that she might have been crying on the other end. "What would _you _know about _faith_? You left us to watch everything we'd worked so hard for crumble down around us. You left us to fail, because you knew that we couldn't do it without you! _Where was your faith then_?

"Don't you talk to _me_ about _faith_, Manjoume. You _left me_. You betrayed us all. You were His Judas, and I'll be damned before I let you stop me from reviving the Society of Light."

She hung up, leaving Manjoume staring ahead into the forest without really seeing as he realized that he didn't have a comeback for that, anyway.

--

Juudai looked away from where he could see Manjoume standing with a cell phone clutched in one hand, pressing his back against the side of the Fourth Dorm building. He had meant to grab his friend and lament the horrors of being forced out of Osiris Red and into Yellow, but had instead stumbled upon the end of Manjoume's conversation just in time to hear him yelling about bringing Saiou back. His heart seemed to stop at those words, his pulse dead in his throat as his skin paled at the insinuation.

Was it possible to bring Saiou back from the dead?

He tried to swallow, but his mouth was unspeakably dry as he realized that there was a small chance that he had not really succeeded at all. Even if Saiou was dead now—which he did not know for sure, because he was still getting that awful blind feeling without the amulet—it did not matter, because Asuka was going to bring him back. The unrealistic nature or impossibility of it all be damned: Saiou was Saiou, and if anyone could come back from the dead to be creepy and weird and try to light the world on fire, it was him.

Although, it would not have been that surprising if he did not come back _alive_, per se. Juudai had seen plenty of dead people up and walking around since coming to Duel Academy: Carmulla, Sara, Amnael and Daitokuji, Abidos, and even Fubuki could have been considered dead in that deep coma of his. He put his hand over the amulet he wore beneath his shirt, rubbing fitfully where the cold metal touched his hot skin. The light hissing of snakes at the contact was the last thing on his mind.

There had to be _something_ that he could do! Surely, somewhere, he could find a way to stop her. But why was Asuka planning this? She had seemed so normal and distinctly not-crazy after he had dueled her last year. . .was it possible that he had not beaten all of Saiou's influence out of her? Had he only defeated her icy cards? It was hard for him to imagine an important card game like that boiling down to just a mere card game. Juudai shook his head as if to clear it of competing thoughts. He needed to focus! Her reason for doing it—or even _how _she was going to do it—was not important. The only thing he needed to know was that she could not be allowed to succeed. But how? He didn't even know where to begin looking. . .

_With this, all things are possible._

Juudai's head jerked up and to the side, as if searching for the speaker of those ominous words. But they had not been spoken, only remembered from a long time ago. Wasn't that what Amnael had said when he held his book up for Juudai to take back in freshman year? Hadn't he said that it contained all the secrets of alchemy, and the answer to every question ever asked?

Quickly and quietly, Juudai turned away from where his friend was still staring off ahead into the woods and left the Fourth Dorm, heading back to Ra Yellow. Halfway there, he broke into a full sprint and ran the rest of the distance. When Juudai finally arrived, he was panting breathlessly as he pushed open the doors and jogged down the hall and up the staircase leading to the third floor. His new room was at the end of the next hallway. Juudai cursed the size of Ra Yellow as he paused outside of his dorm room, taking the moment to catch his breath. He shoved the door open and stepped inside.

His roommate—another senior, though he did not know the older boy—was already there, laying on one of the beds with a book held up over his head. The school's hero let the door fall heavily against the wall behind it, causing the unsuspecting boy to look up in alarm.

"Jeez, Juudai-kun. . .you scared me. Something up?"

"I need the room for a little bit," Juudai blurted out, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck awkwardly. He did feel a little bad about kicking his roommate out like this, but the fate of the world _was _kind of at stake here. And the more he danced around trying to be nice about it, the closer Asuka was getting to bringing Saiou back. And when Saiou got back, things were going to get weird, and scary. "You mind?"

His roommate looked confused and worried for a minute, a frown pulling down at the corners of his mouth. He did not seem to keen on the idea, and when Juudai thought that he was about to protest, he slammed his fist into the doorframe with a resounding _thud_.

"I said, _get out_," it was not snarled or growled or angry sounding at all. Juudai could feel that cold emptiness that was not apathy spreading out from his chest as that hollow adulthood rushed through him. He narrowed his eyes and glared at the—suddenly, very young-looking—boy disapprovingly. Now was not the time for childishness. Now was the time to grow up, and get things done. This was, after all, very, _very _serious. "_Now_."

The other boy stood uncertainly, murmuring something about the study lounge as he passed Juudai on the way out the door, leaving the brunet in relative solitude. After all, Juudai was never really alone. Winged Kuriboh floated up from his deck case, cooing fretfully as it fluttered over to his book bag and waited.

Juudai closed the door behind him as he moved deeper into the room, making sure that it was locked and the curtains were drawn before following the spirit's lead. He opened the bag, reached inside, and pulled out a book wrapped in a dirty white t-shirt that seemed to be breathing.

Truthfully, Juudai had meant to leave it at home. He had not wanted to climb back down that old elevator shaft to retrieve it once Manjoume had left Rintama. But there was something powerful about Amnael's book, something dark and comforting about the knowledge that he knew was inside it. He had worried that he might need it, or one of the other items he had gotten from the Seven Stars, this year. So he brought them all, and kept them nestled deep inside the book bag he never opened.

The school's hero took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He gave the fluffy spirit a wink, as if to reassure them both that Grown-Up Juudai would only be used as needed.

He unwrapped the book and ran a hand over the skin-bound cover, fingers lingering on the metal plate where the golden eye had once been. Slowly, cautiously like it might just bite him if he acted carelessly, Juudai walked over to the desk with it, sat down and placed it on the wooden surface. He gingerly popped the clasp on the front. It opened with a sick, wet organic sound that made him grimace. He held his breath as he lifted the inner panel, eyes locked on that familiar sun symbol until it left his vision.

But, Juudai realized with some shock, the inside of the Emerald Tablet was not quite as creepy as he had thought that it would be. Sure, it was probably written in blood and not red ink, and yeah, the pages still felt too thick to be made of paper, and they were awfully soft and had a strange, smooth and almost leather-like texture to them. But really, that was it. The font was not a diabolic scribble or done in alchemic shorthand. It was written in plain Japanese with easy kanji that he readily recognized. The sentences were clean and to the point, and each phrase completed itself in a three by three inch block of text that fit in with his normal reading style. All in all, it wasn't that bad.

He did not find much of interest on the first few pages. There were some warnings—finish what you start, no skimping on sacrifices, do your steps in order, yada yada—and a few notations, explaining such important things as the differences between types of rituals and the level of protection needed for each one. It was a little on the boring side, so Juudai didn't pay much attention to it. Instead, he began idly flipping through the pages, skimming for something that would work as a weapon against the Light.

And then he found _exactly_ what he was looking for. Hell, it even had _pictures_.

--

It had spent hours slinking through the darkening forest now that it could no longer wait for sundown. To be so close and still have to wait was beyond it; another moment of life with its prey right under its nose might have been its undoing. The creature, pale and majestic in its bestial strength, rose up from its new hiding place just below the first floor windows of the Ra Yellow dormitory, sniffing the air experimentally. It could smell _him_, a strong, musky scent that left its heart racing.

The monster crouched down, every muscle tight with unspent tension, every nerve alight with anticipation. It had waited for so long. . .It lunged up and forward, bypassing the first and second floor windows in favor of an open set on the third. It landed with a harsh _thud_, half-in and half-out of the window with its front claws dug deep into the woodwork and back paws braced against the outside wall. The entrance was not nearly as graceful as it would have liked. It pulled itself inside with a low and throaty growl.

At the desk there was a boy—the prey. He had jumped at the sudden intrusion into his sanctuary, had fallen from his seat in his haste to back away and identify his attacker. The dark book he was reading hit the floor beside the toppled chair. For a moment, there was silence between them as they sought to recognize one another, and then that pale monstrosity was padding heavily towards him. The boy was seated on the floor with his back pressed against the locked door, eyes wide with shock. It loomed over him. The boy gasped as its whiskers brushed his face, crying out in alarm:

"_Tanyachi_?! Is that really you?"

Misawa threw his arms around the neck of the enormous white tiger that had just broken into his room, burying his face in his lover's soft fur. Tanya nuzzled him affectionately with enough force to knock the poor boy over, and proceeded to lick him soundly until they both noticed that her rough tongue was beginning to scrape the top layer of skin off his face and had left his cheek bloody.

"Tan-Tanyachi. . .wh-what are you—" he tried to ask, but cut himself off as he watched her transform. It was beautiful and strange and not at all logical, and it left him breathless. The tiger was surrounded by a purple, resonating glow that seemed to originate from her eyes. It twisted her body, snapping bones and twisting skin to fit the new form. Her body elongated, claws turning into fingers and barrel-chest caving in on itself. The ribcage and spine reconnected; the white fur receded; her tail and ears were pulled back into her body; her muzzle sank back into her face, until finally, there was only the Amazon woman that he had fallen in love with back in freshman year left. The purple light started to fade, and left her eyes last. ". . .doing here?"

"I'm ready to accept you for both your intellect and your bravery," she said in that high, oddly girlish voice she often used. For a woman of her size and bearing, he had always expected a stronger, more mature sound, but he had learned that while Tanya preferred to speak like a much smaller girl, she could easily drop into that deeper register. She was leaning over him, one hand braced just above his left shoulder and the other down by his opposite hip. Misawa glanced down at the space between their bodies, only to jerk his head up to stare at the ceiling, blushing furiously. The transformation from big cat to big woman had not included clothes. Tanya smiled. "I'm here to take you home."

"Home?"

"Don't you remember our first duel, Misawachi?" she asked, pouting slightly. "I won you. You have to come home with me, and become my wife."

"R-r-right now?" he sputtered incredulously, meeting her disappointed gaze. Misawa placed his hands firmly on her muscular shoulders as he amended his outburst."I-I mean. . .yes, of course, let's get married. I love you, but. . .can't I graduate high school first? Shouldn't you meet my parents? We have our whole lives ahead of us, Tanya; what's the rush?"

But Tanya only pulled him up into a sitting position, and caressed his face gently. She kissed him softly, a light tremble to her lips, before that caress turned harsh, gripping his face roughly, and her bright eyes narrowed darkly. "I'll wait for you to graduate, Daichi, only because you waited for me to be ready. But we're getting married as soon as that's over, even if I have to drag your half-dead body through the ceremony. You agreed to the terms of my duel, and you acknowledged our bond across the field of battle. You lost, and your body is _mine_."

There was a hungry way that she emphasized that final word, a predatory and violent undertone that lent her low voice a rough edge. Misawa's eyes went wide and he swallowed hard, nodding slightly to show that he understood. Tanya's smile returned in full force at that, her grip loosening as she leaned in to kiss him again, and whispered against his mouth:

"Besides, I want to have children before the world ends."


	11. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer/Note: **I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!: GX, or any of the characters here, unless otherwise mentioned (Genji and Naoki both belong to me). I do not own Kazuki Takahashi, and no money is being made off of this piece of fiction. This story was written solely for entertainment purposes, and no copyright infringement was intended. Please, do not sue. All original ideas are original (_duh_) and belong to me, unless otherwise mentioned. I would like to share credit for much of this story with my friend and beta, The Mad Poet, who sloughed through the outline and rough drafts. Also, for coming up with many ideas and helping me to flesh out the story (and for playing Marco Polo until the wee hours of the morning). This story takes place at the end of second season, and may contain: violence, language, mind games, biblical references, cultural and religious jokes/criticism, some crude humor, psychological trauma/mental instabilities, romance, and possibly sex or sexual references. If you lack the maturity to handle all that, then please leave now. For everyone else, enjoy.

**Saving You Saves Me**

"_The pain in your heart, you can let it all out to me. I've always been saved by that smile of yours. So go ahead and cry for now, because I'll be here as long as you need_." – 'Teardrop,' BOWL

**Chapter Ten**

Manjoume awoke with a jerk, sitting up in his bed and glancing around the room uncertainly. It took him a moment to remember that he was not in Osiris Red anymore; he was a member of the Fourth Dorm, in his new room, still dressed in his new uniform and laying on top of his new sheets. The banging on his door paused for a moment, and it was the sudden realization that it was not some constant background noise to be ignored but something new and novel that should be dealt with that brought its existence to his attention. His eyes moved to the door, not understanding. Who was that? And, perhaps more importantly, why on Earth was he able to hear it after just waking up? Had he forgotten to put in his earplugs before going to bed? A quick brush of fingertips over one ear answered that question: yes, in fact, he had.

_Bangbangbangbang—_

"I'm coming, hold on!" he shouted at the insistent pounding, shaking his head as he stood. That was strange. . .usually, Manjoume always remembered. Perhaps his talk with Asuka had been more frustrating and draining than he had originally thought. Maybe he tired himself out with all this packing and moving and repacking. Or maybe the Ojamas and the Dark Scorpion Gang had all been just so silent last night that it had not occurred to him that he was falling asleep. Yellow was hovering over the clock on his night stand at the moment, wringing his hands and staring out the window at nothing in particular. Don Zaloog had taken a seat on the edge of Manjoume's desk, his attention focused on his weapon as he spun the chamber of his revolver idly before snapping it back into place with a flick of the wrist. Manjoume grabbed the door handle and threw the door open, glaring death and daggers at however was stupid enough to bother him this early on a Sunday.

"Hey, Manjoume—!" Juudai. Of course it was Juudai, standing there grinning and breathless as if he had run all the way from Osiris, or his thinking cliff, or the lighthouse, or some other place on the other side of the island.

"–San da." Manjoume paused after the curt correction, looking over the school's hero with a frown. ". . .Are you wearing a Yellow jacket? And what do you want?"

"Yeah, whatever," Juudai shrugged the first comment off as he stepped into the room, pushing past Manjoume and sitting down on the edge of the bed. Manjoume's frown only deepened. He had not wanted to invite the other boy in. As if realizing that there had been a question posed to him, Juudai rushed to reply: "And yeah, I am. I have to. The Morality Committee is being crazy hardcore this year, remember? I got bumped up to Yellow, and now I have to wear their ugly uniform. Anyway, I have to ask you something."

"And it absolutely could not wait until – " Manjoume glanced down at his watch to double-check the time " – after eight?"

"Nope. What kind of animals live on the island?"

". . ._Really_?" Manjoume shut the door and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wooden frame. "_That's _what couldn't wait? Why the hell do you care?"

"It's important," Juudai reiterated, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed where they did not quite touch the floor. He met Manjoume's disapproving gaze, and gave him a beseeching look. "Please, Thunder-san?"

"You're a moron," Manjoume snapped, but knew that in the end he would give in. It was the only way to get Juudai to talk, or better yet, to leave. Besides, the school hero always won, and it seemed pointless to fight such an inevitable fate. ". . .Bears. And there are bats, and some birds, and tropical snakes, and. . .and rodents and annoying students. Happy?"

"And monkeys. I saw a seal in the springs once, too."

"If you already know, then why are you asking me?"

"Never mind. Thanks, though," Juudai replied with a shake of his head, looking over to the window and Ojama Yellow. A strangely thoughtful expression came over him as he watched the small spirit. "They're really quiet today, aren't they? It's weird."

"You haven't been hearing them either?" Manjoume straightened, and walked over to the bed to sit down next to the other. It was something that he had been wondering for a while now, and he was almost relieved that Juudai had brought it up. Surely, this was a sign that something was decidedly Not Good on the island. But Juudai just shrugged and fidgeted with the collar of his shirt.

"Winged Kuriboh's been pretty agitated since yesterday."

"Did something happen?" Was this a sign of some new apocalypse? Should they organize a search party to find Pharaoh and ask Daitokuji about it? Should they be calling an exorcist?Juudai gave him a wry smile, as if he had heard the unspoken sentiment loud and clear.

"Nah, not really. We ran into this kid from North Academy, Johan Andersen. You know him?" Juudai asked. Manjoume just shook his head, brows furrowed. He had met and beaten a lot of people at North Academy; that was how he had managed to rise to the top and be selected for the annual duel between the two schools. It was strange that he still thought of it as an annual thing, even though they had not had one last year, and with the new Morality Committee rules, it seemed unlikely that they would have another one this year. Juudai nodded absently, looking back to the window. "He said he was the top guy at North, and wanted to duel. Of course, I beat him, 'cause you Northy kids are really only good for wrestling polar bears and exploring ice caves."

Manjoume gave Juudai a rough shove, and the other boy laughed. "Oh, shut up."

"Anyway, he's okay. He has a spirit that doesn't really get along with Winged Kuriboh, and his deck is kinda cool. We're going to the hot springs later. Wanna come?"

"No thanks. I don't even like hanging out with you when your fully dressed: what makes you think I want to be around you when you're naked?"

Juudai laughed. "I'm glad that you'll never change, Manjoume."

"—San da. And what's that supposed to mean, anyway?"

"Nothing. It's just. . ." Juudai trailed off, his smile wavering as a more serious expression took up residence on his countenance. "I don't want things to change anymore, y'know? That's why I'm going to make sure that it's going to be okay, and that the Light stays gone for good."

"Juudai?"

"So, don't worry about Asuka, or what Saiou might still be up to," Juudai put a heavy hand on his friend's shoulder as he stood and headed for the door. Manjoume stared at him, confused and stunned by the sudden direction of the conversation. "I'll take care of it."

Where had _that_ come from? Manjoume had not said anything to Juudai about Asuka and his conversation with her from yesterday; Hell, he had not even _seen _the other boy until just now. How did he know about her? And what did he mean by Saiou still being up to things? The man was dead. Manjoume had seen the bloody mess that Kenzan had brought up after Juudai's duel with the Society's founder last year. The idea that Saiou was doing anything other than resting in his grave was outrageous, and downright crazy. Actually, it was more than crazy, because even Manjoume could not bring himself to believe it.

Had everyone lost their minds? As appealing as that thought was, he did not think that it was likely. Manjoume leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the newly laid wood of his floor between his feet. Juudai's fear and strange behavior worried him. Maybe all this talk of Saiou and the Light, of resurrections and vessels of God, was starting to get to him. It seemed like everyone else was in on some secret, knew something about what was happening but would not share it with him. He was starting to get tired of always being the last in the know.

"Hey. . .hey, aniki?" Ojama Yellow sounded tiny and far away when it spoke, its high-pitched voice strained with some unfamiliar tension. Manjoume looked up, one brow raised as he waited for the ugly spirit to continue. He did not even scold it; he was glad to hear the Zero-Attack speak again. "Are you still going to see those guys?"

"You mean the guys from the Morality Committee?" Manjoume looked back to his watch. It was only eight-thirty. He did not have to meet up with them until late afternoon. Juudai's strange comments had solidified his resolution, but at the same time, he could not shake the ominous sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was getting that feeling a lot this year. Manjoume gave Ojama Yellow a half-hearted smirk. "Yeah, I am. Someone's got to figure out what's going on on this island, and who better than the Super Detective himself?"

* * *

He had been by this old dried up well many times before, though this time it was not for the sake of climbing to its bottom to retrieve junk cards for a new deck. Manjoume had not done that since early last year, before the birth of the White Order, and the sight of the rock rim with the tips of the long wild grass brushing its side brought back an odd feeling of nostalgia. It made him think of his freshman year, of ante duels and cards tossed out to sea, of North Academy and fields of ice. The soft cries of monsters lost by choice drifted up to him from deep inside the well and he could not help but wonder if his companion would mind a slight detour to rescue them. But Naoki Fuuma had already admitted that he never saw spirits or heard shadow-whispers, and probably would not have understood Manjoume's desire to save them.

"Here, White Thunder," the green beret was saying, his mouth split in a wide and fervent grin, as he pressed a dark uniform into Manjoume's hands. It seemed like he was always smiling, like there was nothing that could diminish his optimism. Was that the right word? Maybe it was faith; a belief that the Divine Light would make everything okay in the end. But Manjoume did not know if he believed that anymore. He looked down at the uniform, then back to Naoki's hands, which now held a pair of black combat boots. "I took it from the supply room in the back of the barracks, so everything should fit. Don't worry; I'll make sure that you'll blend right in."

Manjoume just nodded, his throat feeling tight. Naoki set the boots down on the ground and then turned to the well, looking down into the darkness as the boy stripped out of his new black jacket and traditional purple turtleneck.

"I'm excited. I can't wait for you to hear Lord Raphael speak. I wonder what you'll think of the Order," he was idly musing, toying with the shoulder sling of his M-16. Manjoume looked up with a quizzical expression. He took off his jeans and stepped into the green fatigue pants before replying.

"You didn't tell me much. I'm not sure what to expect."

Naoki laughed, smiling over his shoulder as he watched Manjoume slip into the dark undershirt and button up the combat blouse. "The Society of Light is what the Order would have been—I think—if we all could have felt the glory of God. As it is, the Order is dark, and cold, and very structured; we have a military hierarchy, and we undergo a lot of combat arms and religious training before we're allowed to join a unit. More often than not, we work in the shadows instead of the light, but still. . .I consider myself part of the Society of Light now, but my reasons for joining the Order remain: we believed in God, and Christ, and that the world was under attack from darkness. We wanted to save it, and were willing to sell our souls to do it."

"You're a security guard at a dueling high school," Manjoume stated this fact with a furrowed brow, finishing the last button and reaching for the black belt. Naoki moved to face him and sat down on the well's edge. He took off his beret and sunglasses, and ran a hand through short brown hair. It occurred to him then that Naoki was really very young, and probably not much older than himself. Still, the green beret had seemed both far more innocent in his ideals and infinitely more experienced in his faith than Manjoume could ever remember being.

"Your friends have fought demon gods and evil men on this island," the committee member paused for a moment, tilting his head up to squint at the ever-darkening sky above. The well was in a clearing, so no branches obscured his view. "If the higher ranks of our Order weren't so corrupted, if men like Napoleon hadn't been allowed to run wild for so long, you wouldn't have had to deal with any of that. That's why we're stationed here as guardians of the Dark Door. We're supposed to protect you from the darkness on the island, and from your own curiosity.—" His gaze flicked back down to where Manjoume was trying to tuck his pants into his boots, and his smile returned. "—I'm sorry, White Thunder, but you're doing it all wrong. Here, let me."

He stood, and walked over to kneel in front of where Manjoume had taken a seat in the long grass. The boy leaned back so that he could tuck the fabric in evenly, folding over a small piece on either side of Manjoume's leg, before beginning to lace the boot up. He wrapped the shoe string around the high top in the middle of Manjoume's calf once. There was only one knot.

"Anyway, our leader, Lord Raphael, was the right-hand man of the Holy Avatar about a decade ago. The Order's goal then was to cleanse the world of evil by summoning a. . .a leviathan, I think you'd call it. But when the Avatar was killed, Lord Raphael ultimately changed the Order's purpose. Now we guard the portals between this world and the Khenti, but sometimes I think that he forgets that we're not still trying to kill everyone."

"The Khenti? What is that?"

"It means 'the black.' It's kind of like Purgatory, but cold and filled with monsters, and demons, and all those spirits that you can see and hear. Some people refer to it as a realm of shadows, or the place between the land of the living and the land of the dead. Personally, I think that it might be Hell."

". . .Why did you leave the Order and join the Society of Light, Naoki?"

The green beret's hands stopped, hesitating on the second boot. Their eyes met, and Naoki's smile grew even larger. It reminded him of Juudai, Manjoume realized with a slight start. Not the Juudai from this morning, not the golden-eyed Juudai from the elevator over this summer, but of a Juudai that could have been. Everything Naoki did reminded him of Juudai, if only he could have saved him earlier last year. If he had not waited, if he had not let the White Order become infected and crumble away into the severity of the light and ignorant, childish pride. . .is this how Juudai would have been? He wondered what Juudai would have sounded like with the name of God on his lips, or how he would have laughed with Christ in his heart.

"I left it because of you," Naoki said simply, and Manjoume tilted his head up and back so that he could look at the sky as he listened. He wondered if this was how Asuka felt when he had converted her, when he had taken her hand and walked with her into the pure, beautiful Light. Was this the kind of faith that he was able to inspire, but never reach for himself? Manjoume imagined that it was his rival speaking, and the thought made him hurt all over. "I never saw Saiou-sama and I never heard him speak. To me, _you_ were the White Order, the heart of the Society of Light. You would talk about finding salvation in the Divine Light, and it was like. . .like I could see it, feel the warmth on my skin. I've never felt like that before. You sounded like the Prophet. To me, you _are_ the voice of God."

They were silent for a long time after that strangely intense confession—the emotions so much deeper and more meaningful than any kind of mortal love—until he patted Manjoume's knee to signify that he was done and they both rose to their feet. Naoki adjusted his weapon and put his headgear back on; they exchanged a few, brief words on military etiquette and on the proper way to wear a beret. Manjoume could not think of a response, and so he kept his mouth shut as they headed into the woods, away from the school and towards the Morality Committee barracks. The speeches he had given as Saiou's right hand were in the forefront of his thoughts, and he wondered if Naoki was hoping that he would revive the Society of Light. But it was as he had told Asuka yesterday; without Saiou, it would all be meaningless.

. . .Wouldn't it? If Manjoume was able to be a stand-in for the real Prophet, if he was able to keep just far enough away from the Light to keep from burning, would it be possible to bring back the White Order? Asuka was wrong about being able to bring back Saiou. Manjoume knew this, but was it possible that Saiou was not needed? The messages were all still present, the Messiah's words still echoed in his head some nights. It felt wrong to think like that, but if Christianity could survive without Christ, then it only seemed right that the Society of Light could survive without Saiou.

But if he brought back the Society or the White Order, that meant that he would be bringing back the Light. He wondered what Juudai would do, wondered how far the boy would go to stop him. Juudai always seemed frighteningly serious when he talked about the Light and Saiou these days. Honestly, he did not know if he could win a fight against the school's hero, no matter how important the outcome was to him. Manjoume brought a hand up to fidget with his hair, but quickly dropped it out of the fear that he would mess up the beret. Maybe hearing Doom would help; maybe remembering what religion looked and sounded and felt like without doubt would be good for him.

* * *

"Do you even know any Catholic prayers?" Genji whispered worriedly, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. Manjoume mimicked his pose, and raised a brow. It had not occurred to him that their faith would be so structured; he had never been Catholic, and the idea that prayers would need to be memorized verbatim seemed strange. Before the White Order he had been an atheist, although his father believed in a traditional form of Shinto. Somehow, he did not think any of that would help. Genji suppressed a groan. "Just follow my lead and try not to look awkward. . ."

They were on their knees on a thin stretch of cloth that had been laid out over the cold concrete floor of the barracks' sanctuary. The room was dimly lit by candles from the front; above them, Manjoume had noted that there were a number of long fluorescent lights, all of which had been left off. There was a low altar in the center of the candle light, a metal chalice and standing dish resting atop it; beside it stood a wooden podium. All around him Manjoume could see people, some with soft faces who looked even younger than himself, all with heads bowed and berets removed, sunglasses on the floor by their knees. The M-16s had been stacked standing in a pyramid formation in the previous room.

Manjoume ducked his head down at a nudge from Naoki on his right, who offered him a small smile before closing his eyes and murmuring some foreign prayer. He swallowed hard, feeling like an intruder in their holy place. Manjoume squeezed his eyes shut and strained his ears, moving his lips silently. There was a soft buzzing of voices from the room, all cut suddenly short by a set of heavy footsteps. For a moment, that was all he could hear: the light creak of leather, a shift of rough fabric over itself, and the fall of each measured step up to the altar. Then there was nothing, and he dared not open his eyes.

"Before we begin, let us pray to Saint Michael, in hopes that he will bless our battles and help us onward towards victory against the ever-growing darkness," a man with a deep, heavily accented voice began, and Manjoume recognized him as the speaker from yesterday's assembly. The gathered members joined in as their leader recited the prayer. "_O glorious prince Saint Michael, chief and commander of the heavenly hosts, guardian of souls, vanquisher of rebel spirits, servant in the house of the Divine King and our admirable conductor. You who shine with excellence and superhuman virtue deliver us from all evil, who turn to you with confidence and enable us by your gracious protection to serve God more and more faithfully every day. _Amen."

The Morality Committee members ended at different times, so that 'amens' rang out through the bunker. Manjoume opened his eyes to thin slits, certain that Raphael could not see him from the distance in this near-darkness, and raised his head ever so slightly to watch. The big man stood behind the podium much as he had the day before, his hands raised as if for silence, although no one else seemed to be watching him. Behind him, Manjoume could see those white wings, which had a faint shimmer of ethereal light all their own.

"It has been brought to my attention that the care and protection over this island has grown lax and weak in my absence, and I mean to correct these mistakes as quickly as possible, through any means necessary," Raphael's voice boomed across the concrete room, followed by the sound of his wings rustling quietly in the natural pause as he lowered his arms. He leaned forward on the podium, glaring down at his uniformed flock. "Have you all forgotten _why we are here_? Doom was not created to spread fear and intimidate children, and nor was our strength meant to waste away while we watched the Armies of Darkness grow. What have you been doing with yourselves these last few years? Where was your righteous anger when the enemies of our God took His words in vain, and led the ignorant into the open and waiting maw of the Devil's minions?"

Raphael stepped away from the podium, his heavy boots carrying him down from the altar. He stalked through the first few rows of Committee members. Manjoume had to consciously stop himself from turning his head to follow that predatory movement, had to snap his eyes close for a moment to make sure that the Frenchman had not spotted him. When he opened them again, he found himself looking at the man's broad, tense shoulders and agitated fluttering of wings. Raphael continued to bellow angrily at them: "Did God not warn us of these charlatans, these false prophets that would twist the Gospel to serve themselves? Have you remembered nothing of the Scripture handed down to us?"

He reached out then and grabbed a young man by the neck, pulling so that the Committee member was forced to arch back and stare up him from a painful angle. Small white feathers drifted down to the floor behind him, and Manjoume could feel Genji trembling next to him. Raphael shook the young man roughly as he commanded him to respond: "Tell me, soldier; when did you last read the Bible?"

"I. . .I-I—" at this uncertain beginning, Raphael tightened his grip and shook the young man harder, muttering for him to speak up with more confidence. The young man did, though his voice cracked slightly as he tried again. "I read the Word of our Lord daily, sir."

Raphael released him roughly, shoving him forward onto the concrete. The young man caught himself with his hands just in time to save him from breaking his nose on the floor. Doom's leader continued moving through the rows, his hands now clasped firmly behind his back.

"The Devil himself will appear before us in numerous forms; he will be a child, and a woman, and an angel bathed in white. Such was the case only just last year. This so-called 'Society of Light' was led by a false prophet who used the teachings of the Bible to blind its followers and lead them away from the path of righteousness. _Wh__y did you follow_?" Raphael whirled on another Committee member at this. He slammed his foot into the man's back. The Committee member fell forward, crying out in pain. Raphael kept his boot firmly planted there between the green beret's shoulder blades, pressing down until the man was begging for him to stop. He shouted over the pleading. "Was your faith so weak that you could not see through the Devil's flimsy disguise?"

"I didn't join them!" the Committee member was screaming, trying vainly to free himself. Raphael sneered again, but stepped back and continued on down the rows. When he stopped, it was at the beginning of the row where Manjoume, Genji, and Naoki had all knelt. Manjoume quickly closed his eyes again and dropped his head down further, hoping that he had not been seen or recognized.

"I have heard their heathen sermons, and the way they claimed to be warriors of the Divine Light, heaven-sent and fate-bound. This is a lie, gentlemen, told to deceive us and confound our mission. Never forget who we are!" Raphael started off slowly, but his words gained in fervor and volume as Manjoume heard him coming closer. "We are not filled with light! We are not holy, or divine, or beautiful! All of mankind is a putrid stain that defiles His holy and perfect gardens! But, like Eden's serpent, we are bound into the service of the Lord to fight the demons we once called 'brothers.' We are the last of the Crusaders! We are the bloodstained carriers of salvation! We were awakened from this mortal nightmare to walk through the shadows and light the way for His people. And though we are damned to darkness and our souls are black with sin, as long as we are strong in our faith the everlasting grace of our Lord God will save us from the fires of Hell."

It was not the rousing motivational speech Manjoume had been expecting, not the inspiring words of a leader who wants his followers to become better human beings. This was not an order that wanted to save people. This was an order that hated humanity for its inherent darkness, that lived on self-loathing and deprecation. And for that reason, it sounded more true than anything he had heard in a very long time. Manjoume knew well what it felt like to claim your imperfections and failures, and to how use them as a weapon. Still, he did not like it.

Raphael stopped just behind the three of them, his presence like a great and dark shroud that descended heavily across their shoulders. Manjoume could feel the Frenchman glowering at their bowed heads, could feel his pale eyes burning into the back of his neck. He wished that he could turn around and see the man, as if somehow the addition of sight might make everything infinitely less terrifying. "It has come to my attention that there are those who would disagree with me. There are those amongst us who have not seen the folly of their ways, and do not understand the gravity of this situation. In this very room, there are those who would see the Society revived and our own Order fall to ruin in its wake. The Door here is weak; it has already been opened once, and the keys and Items that bind it shut have already tasted blood. The darkness grows ever stronger as we struggle amongst ourselves. We do not have the time or resources to spend fighting both of these enemies right now. The Order must stand strong in the face of this trial. We must show no mercy to our rival, for he will show us none in return. We must crush his will to fight beneath our boot heels; we must inspire fear in his heart when he hears our name. I will say this only once to those who have joined the Society of Light, and who still believe that they are members of that cursed cult: _Saiou_ was not the Avatar of our Lord. He was _not_ God's chosen messenger. _He is not Dartz!_"

Quietly, Manjoume heard Raphael begin to pray:

"_In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit_. Amen."

There came a sound of rustling wings and fabric, of a metal snap being undone and something sliding against leather. It was loud in the silence, and it was followed by an ominous _click_ and the very distinct sound that a gun makes when the slide is cocked back and a bullet chambered. He knew that sound well from when he was younger; the Manjoume Group used armed bodyguards at most meetings. Manjoume cracked an eye open and tilted his head as slowly as he could to try to catch a glimpse of what Raphael was doing.

"_O most sweet Jesus, through the bloody sweat which Thou didst suffer in the Garden of Gethsemane, have mercy on this wretched soul—_" Raphael recited the holy words without emotion or hesitation. Manjoume's breath caught in the back of his throat with a tiny choked noise as he eyes grew impossibly wide, the thought that he might be caught fleeing his mind entirely.

There was a gun pressed to the back of Naoki's head, the young Morality Committee member shaking badly and trying so hard not to cry. Raphael looked down at him with a cold expression devoid of pity, his arm straight and steady. His jacket had been unbuttoned and was open, and Manjoume could see the side holster where the gun must have come from. As Raphael continued the prayer, Naoki yelled over him, sobbing to his peers:

"We are not the monsters that he tells us we have to be—!"

"—_through the pains which Thou didst suffer during Thy most cruel scourging, have mercy on him._"

"I have seen and felt the touch of the Divine Light, and it has burned away the veil that Doom has tried to throw over our eyes—!"

"—_through the pains which Thou didst suffer in Thy most painful crowning of thorns, have mercy on him._"

"We've lost too much to this hatred of humanity—!"

"—_through the pains which Thou didst suffer in carrying Thy cross to Calvary, have mercy on him_. "

"Don't you see?! The Society was created to help cleanse this filthy world—!"

"—_through the pains which Thou didst suffer during Thy most cruel Crucifixion, have mercy on him._"

"Now is the time spoken of in Revelations—!"

"—_through the pains which Thou didst suffer in Thy most bitter agony on the Cross, have mercy on him._"

" Saiou-sama was no false prophet, but the Son of God reborn, as foretold by Malachi—!"

"—_through the immense pain which Thou didst suffer in breathing forth Thy Blessed Soul, have mercy on him_."

Raphael pulled the trigger.

The bullet ripped through the back of Naoki's skull at a slightly downward angle so that it was forced to exit through the center of his face in an explosion of red gore. Blood and brain tissue, tiny bone fragments and pieces of cartilage, spattered across Manjoume's stunned face and the cowering backs of the Committee members in the row in front of them. One of them doubled over with a sharp, pained howl, thrashing as he clutched at his left boot, which had been punctured by the escaping round. Genji bit back a sob, shoulders shaking violently as he fell forward onto his hands, fingers curling into his palms to bite half-moons into the soft skin there. Manjoume could not move, could not blink; he could do nothing but stare as the tension was ripped from the body, as every muscle suddenly went slack and it toppled over onto the sticky concrete.

While the exit wound had taken all of Naoki's defining features, Manjoume saw that the entry wound was fairly clean, about the size of a large coin. Plasma oozed from that blackened spot on the back of his head, staining his brown hair and dripping down his neck to join the yellow slime and grey matter that puddle around him. It reeked of gunsmoke and that heavy copper-ozone stink that blood gives off. Distantly, he heard someone retching from the other side of the room, and that smell soon joined the others. A white feather drifted down to land on Naoki's body, and only then was Manjoume able to turn his disbelieving gaze away.

Raphael holstered his weapon, and without wiping off the blood that had speckled his hands and front, he pulled his rosary out and finished the prayer:

"_Wretched Soul, I have prayed for thee, and I entreat thee, who are in danger of being damned and of losing God forever, to pray with me, though we are all but miserable sinners._ Amen."

Manjoume was still shaking, could still see the mangled, faceless body on the floor beside him every time he blinked, as the other Committee members began to recite their Rosaries:

"_Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. _Amen_. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee_. . ."


End file.
